


Ways That Can't Be Said

by lesdemonium (winnerstick)



Series: Modern 'Verse [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Baby Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Good Parent Jaskier | Dandelion, Good Parent Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Humor, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kid Fic, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Roommates, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unrequited Love, buying and owning a HOUSE?, i mean successful co-parenting?, mainly geralt pov but sections of jaskier pov, only in fanfiction babeeey, raising a baby with people you love?, this is a millenial fantasy, yennefer is present but a secondary character & relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:08:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24062605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winnerstick/pseuds/lesdemonium
Summary: Being a new parent was hard, but Jaskier made it easier to manage. Geralt had no idea what he would have done without Jaskier there to help him stumble through it.Jaskier has been in love with Geralt for as long as he's known him. Loving Cirilla was even easier.Jaskier hummed, then nudged Geralt’s arm. “I’ll put her down. You go to sleep.”“You don’t have to--” Geralt started, raising an eyebrow at him.“I know I don’t have to. But I’m awake and slept through the other possibly four times. You could use your sleep.” Jaskier held out his arms expectantly, but still Geralt hesitated. “C’mon. I’ll let you handle Dad duty by yourself tomorrow. Accept my help this time. Doesn’t make her any less yours.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Modern 'Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1747069
Comments: 195
Kudos: 1184





	Ways That Can't Be Said

**Author's Note:**

> so, where is this set? well, it's set in -complete gibberish-US! because if you don't specify where it's at, you don't have to figure out the logistics of how much a house/apartment would cost. but it's definitely the us bc i work as a nanny in the us and i know the terms for baby things here, but would fuck up if i tried to use terms for baby things in other countries. take my incredibly specific knowledge base and LIKE IT.

Cirilla was crying again.

It wasn’t surprising, that was what babies did, he was told, especially the first few months. Just crying, at all hours of the day, needing to sleep but too little to get their bodies to obey. Geralt could last on little to no sleep, he had before, but there was something so different about being interrupted multiple times a night to a screaming baby. He had never described himself as helpless before.

And now, Cirilla wouldn’t take her bottle. She’d much rather scream at him.

Geralt sighed, pulling himself up and out of bed with her bundled close to his chest, rocking and walking and trying so hard to get her to latch on. She was protesting this bottle, maybe he’d have to try a different nipple. But he could do that  _ tomorrow _ when the sun was up. Right now he just needed her to take enough to get her through the night.

“Ciri, c’mon, sweetheart,” Geralt mumbled, though he could barely hear himself over her wails.

Thank God for small miracles, she was starting to settle. Her cries died down to fussing with some half-hearted wailing here and there, and Geralt breathed a sigh of relief. The room was dark, but he could still see most of the details of her small face--the way her forehead wrinkled around her squinted eyes, the way her mouth tried  _ so hard _ to grab the nub of the bottle. She finally calmed enough to latch, and instantly the room was devoid of any crying, and instead filled with the soft sounds of a baby trying to eat. Geralt was pretty sure he had never heard anything more beautiful. Or he was just exhausted.

He sat back down on the bed, leaning against the wall behind him, and closed his eyes, just for a moment. That “just for a moment” however, quickly turned into a doze, only to be awoken by his bedroom door softly opening.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, sitting up. “I’m sorry, did we--”

“No, it’s okay, don’t apologize,” Jaskier said, holding out a hand and shaking his head. Jaskier climbed into the bed beside Geralt, looking down at Ciri, who was also starting to doze around her bottle. “At least we  _ know _ she wasn’t yours, or Yennefer would have a lot of explaining to do on where she got her lungs.”

Geralt snorted. “Maybe her mother was a banshee.”

“And her bio father was an auction barker,” Jaskier added, nodding his head seriously, despite his teasing tone.

Geralt breathed a laugh, far too tired for anything else. He had often wondered what happened to Ciri’s biological parents. It had been a closed adoption, and they had only met Pavetta and Duny a couple of times before her birth. Geralt had wanted to ask, but there was clearly so much sadness there, he couldn’t bring himself to pry. It was enough that they gave him Cirilla. He didn’t want to ask anything more of the couple.

“How many times has she been up?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt sighed, taking a moment to count. “I think this is her fourth. Or fifth. Yennefer tells me this is another leap stage, or regression, or some shit. I think there’s always a new regression.”

Jaskier hummed, then nudged Geralt’s arm. “I’ll put her down. You go to sleep.”

“You don’t have to--” Geralt started, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I know I don’t have to. But I’m awake and slept through the other possibly four times. You could use your sleep.” Jaskier held out his arms expectantly, but still Geralt hesitated. “C’mon. I’ll let you handle Dad duty by yourself tomorrow. Accept my help this time. Doesn’t make her any less yours.”

That wasn’t the issue, and they both knew that, judging by Jaskier’s teasing smile. Still, Geralt relented, passing Ciri over into Jaskier’s arms. She had almost been asleep and the motion jolted her awake, but luckily only with a limp whimper.

“I’ll just--” Geralt said, holding up the bottle.

“No. You have other bottles. That one doesn’t need to be cleaned  _ immediately _ . Leave it on the bedside table for me, in case I need it, and you can take care of it in the morning. After you  _ sleep _ .” Jaskier’s tone left no room for argument, and Geralt snorted again as he, reluctantly, settled into bed.

Jaskier was almost out the door when Geralt asked, “When did you become so bossy?”

Jaskier stopped moving forward, but Geralt could see him still bouncing for Ciri’s benefit. “ _ Someone _ has to keep you from killing yourself. I don’t think Ciri could bear to lose you.”

Geralt answered with a scoff, already far too tired to argue back. Jaskier left the room, and by the time he came back to put Ciri down in her bassinet, Geralt had long-since passed out.

\--

“I’ve figured it out,” Jaskier declared, throwing open the front door. 

Truly, he was lucky that Geralt was even in the room when he came home, or his dramatic entrance would not have made quite the same effect when he repeated it a second time. As it was, Geralt was sitting on his laptop, trying to catch up on some work, while Ciri was fast asleep in her bassinet. He was, unfortunately, perfectly primed for Jaskier’s dramatics. Geralt was mostly just glad he hadn’t come in singing, or something.

“What have you figured out? That those pants look ridiculous and you really should burn them?” Geralt asked, looking back at his computer screen.

“You’re very funny, Geralt. You should consider stand up comedy. And I will have you know that Yennefer  _ herself _ complimented these pants. I trust her judgment far more than I trust yours, even if she looked as if she was physically in pain as she said it,” Jaskier answered, waving Geralt’s teasing away as if it were nothing. “I have figured out where I’m going to play.”

Jaskier plopped onto the couch next to Geralt, stretching out so fully that his ankle hooked on Geralt’s knee. Geralt waited, but Jaskier said nothing more, and when he looked up Jaskier was looking expectantly at him.

“Aren’t you going to ask where I’m going to play?” Geralt rolled his eyes. “Thank you for your interest, my friend. There’s a  _ lovely _ new bar just down the street. It’s called Posadas. Weird name, if you ask me, but I think the bar itself has a lot of potential. The owner said he was interested in having live music, and they booked me! Granted, they booked me for free drinks and the promise that  _ maybe  _ if I’m  _ good _ they’ll pay me in the future, but I think it’s a fair enough trade for now.”

“Hmm,” Geralt answered, finishing his email and sending it off. He hesitated a moment, looking at the other  _ hundreds _ he had awaiting him, then closed the laptop and turned to Jaskier. “When are you playing?”

Jaskier’s grin was radiant, and Geralt didn’t use that word lightly. His entire face lit up with the brightness of it. “This Friday. I  _ noticed _ that’s when Yennefer has Ciri again. Maybe after the trade you could nap off your fatherly exhaustion and come see me play?”

“Yen has a later flight that day,” Geralt answered. “We’re meeting for dinner this time.” Jaskier’s face fell, just a bit, just enough that Geralt only noticed because he was close enough to touch Jaskier’s frown. “So I might be  _ late _ . Is all.”

“I’d say you could invite her, but, oh, darn, she’ll have an infant. A bar really is no place for an infant.” Jaskier played the part of “disappointed” well, even if he couldn’t  _ quite _ get the slight quirk of his lips to go away. “Maybe next time.”

Geralt scoffed. “Yeah, maybe next time.” He was pretty sure  _ next time _ wouldn’t be all that accommodating to Yennefer, either.

\--

Jaskier was very drunk. So drunk he was pretty sure he was swimming his way through the bar, but that was fine, because everyone  _ loved _ drunk Jaskier. Drunk Jaskier was a good time, much like sober Jaskier was a good time.

Still, he couldn’t squash this niggling sensation that something was wrong. That he was fucking it up somehow. Whatever  _ it _ was. Then again, he often felt that way, in all matters of his life, and often was correct. There wasn’t much he could do about it now, the drink had already been drunk, but the feeling had him supremely ready to go home and lay in his own bed.

Jaskier extracted himself from the company he had been keeping--a small group of people about his age, celebrating someone’s birthday. They were nice, one or two of them were even interested in him, and he probably could have stayed with them a while longer, maybe even gone home with someone. But, suddenly, all he wanted was to go back to Geralt. Last Jaskier had seen him, Geralt was nursing a beer in the quietest corner he could find.

Getting back to Geralt wasn’t an easy task. The bar was loud, people were everywhere, and suddenly Jaskier couldn’t go one step without people  _ touching _ him. That wasn’t usually a problem; they couldn’t help it, as packed as the place was, and Jaskier usually didn’t mind. Now, though, now they were getting in the way of Jaskier making it to Geralt in a timely manner. Geralt would probably be  _ thrilled _ to leave. He was a good sport when Jaskier managed to convince him to come out, but there was a reason their outings were rare: Geralt  _ hated _ crowds. And loud noises. And people touching him. And Jaskier usually would much rather spend time with Geralt in a neutral ground than in what was so  _ clearly _ Jaskier’s domain.

Tonight was different, though, because Jaskier was nursing a broken heart. Or, so he said. He was sad about things ending with Virginia, truly, he was. But he had been searching for distractions for far longer than Virginia de Stael had been around. Anything to get the feeling of long, white hair out of his fingers and amber eyes out of his fantasies.

Besides; he and Virginia were likely to reconcile eventually. They always did. If not, no great loss.

Sometimes he was wrong, though. Sometimes he didn’t need a distraction, he just needed to spend time with Geralt. Spending time with Geralt let him forget, on occasion. Forget that there would always be a distance between them, forget that Geralt never was and never would be Jaskier’s. Maybe even he could forget that he was in love with Geralt. That was a laugh, though. Jaskier could never forget how much he loved Geralt. But when they were pressed together watching a movie--Geralt never really protested the  _ cuddling _ anymore--Jaskier could forget that Geralt didn’t love him back.

Tonight, that was what he wanted. To forget.

Jaskier stopped, so quickly that his body disagreed and bumped into the person in front of him, who gave Jaskier a glare. Jaskier didn’t notice, though, because his eyes were on Geralt. He was sitting right where Jaskier had left him but now there was a woman sitting with him. A gorgeous woman, dressed so elegantly that she was almost out of place, but Jaskier had a feeling this particular woman never felt out of place in any room she was in. She was leaning in close to Geralt. She wanted to be heard. Geralt was leaning back. He wanted to hear her.

Stuttering back to life, Jaskier finished the journey to the table, pulling up a chair beside Geralt.

“Well! This place sure is full,” he greeted, trying to school his expression into something… casual. It was harder than it should be, and Jaskier blamed the drinks. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Jaskier, and you are?”

The woman raised her eyebrow and looked him up and down. She was silent long enough that it started to become awkward, and Jaskier felt wholly appraised. He must have passed some sort of test, because a moment  _ after _ it became truly uncomfortable, she raised her hand to half-heartedly shake his outstretched one.

“Yennefer.”

Jaskier nodded. Apparently, she wasn’t going to add more, and Jaskier found he had very little to say to this woman. He turned back to Geralt.

“How are you doing? You fed up yet?” he asked, and he prayed to anyone that was listening that Geralt would understand the plea for what it was. Jaskier wanted nothing more than to leave, but he couldn’t say that  _ now _ , not while someone else was watching.

“No, I’m fine,” Geralt answered.  _ Fuck _ . “Take your time. Take care of your… broken heart.”

Jaskier’s face went slack, but he fixed it in an instant. It wasn’t exactly an attractive look to be gaping at Geralt, especially when Geralt wasn’t even paying attention to him. Geralt was busy looking at Yennefer. Jaskier couldn’t blame him; normally Jaskier would be looking at her too. Even Jaskier had to admit defeat; anyone who managed to actually make Geralt Rivia want to  _ stay _ in a noisy, crowded, somewhat  _ humid _ bar, must have been great for Geralt’s sort of conversation.

So he took a deep breath, nodded, and put on his best face. “Alright. See you around, then,” he said, standing up and leaving them to it.

Jaskier went home with the birthday boy. Geralt went home with Yennefer.

\-- 

“My little lion cub!” Yennefer exclaimed, completely bypassing Geralt to pull Ciri out of her bucket seat.

Geralt huffed a laugh and backed up, giving Yen room. “Hello to you, too, Yen.”

“Oh hush,” Yennefer chided. She looked far more relaxed now. Just moments before, Geralt was pretty sure she was planning on murdering everyone in her path--apparently something about her trip hadn’t gone well. Now that Ciri was in her arms, though, her face relaxed and she even  _ cooed _ at Ciri. Cooing was not something Geralt thought he would ever see Yennefer do.

“It’s hard to compete with a baby,” Yennefer added. “Your cheeks aren’t nearly as pinchable.” With a wink, she demonstrated. By pinching his cheek. Geralt was only glad that Jaskier wasn’t there to fall into stitches over the gesture.

“So what went wrong?” Geralt asked, sitting back in his chair.

Yennefer sat in the seat across from him, settling Ciri in her lap. Thankfully, Yen had found the one window where Ciri was awake and alert, but not screaming yet. He was sure that would come soon, but now for the next three days that was  _ Yennefer’s _ problem. Though he had to admit, he already wasn’t sure what he was going to do without an infant to care for. Three days. Only three days.

“The airline lost my bags. They said they would deliver them by tomorrow, but now this means I won’t be able to get a jumpstart on the next issue,” Yennefer answered, rolling her eyes. “The trip went well, though. Finally I’ll have some usable photos. Istredd outdid himself this time.”

The rest of their meal fell into easy conversation. Ciri was mostly calm, though just before Geralt and Yennefer received their food she needed to have a bottle. Geralt was relieved to notice that Yennefer--confident, always sure of herself Yennefer--looked a little uneasy at Ciri’s fussing as well. Her hold wasn’t sure yet, and she fumbled with the bottle, nearly pressing it into Cirilla’s nosel. At least he wasn’t alone in this, but it was hard not to compare when he was living with Jaskier, who made everything look so  _ easy _ .

“I have four younger sisters, Geralt. Not to mention all the cousins. I think you’ve hardly even been in a room with a baby before Ciri. You’ll figure it out. You’re already so much better,” Jaskier had said, trying to soothe him. It was hard to believe him, though, when Geralt had spent over an hour trying to get Ciri to sleep, while Jaskier had managed to do it in minutes.

“What are you staring at?” Yennefer asked as she pulled away from the stroller, where Ciri was now sleeping peacefully.

Geralt shrugged. “Motherhood looks good on you.”

Yennefer smiled at this, and Geralt found himself smiling back. It was nice to be able to make her smile again. It had been awhile.

“So, I spoke with my lawyer,” Yennefer said, breaking the spell. At least she looked apologetic as she did so, which was about as close as Geralt would ever actually get as far as an apology from her. For anything. “He thinks the proceedings will go fairly quickly, as long as we can come to an agreement on custody and assets.”

“Didn’t we already discuss this?”

“Yes. So I think it will go quicker than he thinks. But he’s convinced we’re going to have a falling out just before and spite each other. We might want to put it in writing.”

Geralt nodded. “Right. Well. Why don’t you draft it, then. Email me.”

He wasn’t expecting the lump in his throat at Yennefer’s words. He knew this was coming, of course he did. They had decided before Ciri was even born that they were going to get a divorce. The only reason they didn’t go for it before was because they didn’t want that legal matter to fuck with the legal matter of Ciri’s adoption. They had discussed and planned and come up with backup plans and ideas for how the plans would change as Ciri got older. Still, it was hard to hear about Yennefer talking to a lawyer. That was a little too real.

Just because it was the best decision for all three of them didn’t mean it hurt less.

“So. She’s still having a tough time sleeping. Jaskier got a new swaddle… sack, thing. It seemed to help her soothe a little better. I put that in the bag.”

Yennefer’s eyes lit up and Geralt didn’t like the look of that smirk. “Oh,  _ Jaskier _ got a new swaddle for her?” she asked.

“Yes?” Geralt’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t know where this was going, but he didn’t think he liked it.

Yennefer hummed. “Is he enjoying raising a baby with you?”

Geralt hated when she made comments like this. In the beginning, he thought it was jealousy, like she was trying to suggest that there was something more between him and Jaskier. He realized pretty quickly that Yennefer neither suspected nor cared if there  _ was _ , but still she poked and prodded at it nonetheless. Over six years together and Geralt still couldn’t figure out an appropriate way to respond. Jaskier was better at this. He would always have some sort of biting remark back, that would either end with him and Yennefer rolling their eyes at each other, or giving each other satisfied smirks. Geralt couldn’t begin to understand their on-again-off-again friendship, but Jaskier seemed to thrive in it.

“He’s helpful. He knows what he’s doing, whereas I…” He gestured vaguely toward Ciri’s stroller. “Don’t.”

“I’m sure it’s his dream come true. Tell the little lark I said hello. And to break a leg tonight. Or both of them. I’m not picky.” Yennefer winked as she stood up, gathered her things, and then pushed Ciri’s stroller out the door.

\--

When Geralt finally made it to the bar, Jaskier was already playing. He took a seat next to Triss, who had waved frantically at him once he walked in, and glanced around at the crowd. Jaskier would be pleased; every head was turned in his direction, and several people were even dancing in their seats. For a bar, especially a new one, Geralt supposed that was about as good as he could hope for.

And Jaskier himself, well. He was in his element. His grin was turned down toward his guitar, but Geralt could still just barely see the upturn of his lips. Geralt could see his happiness in his posture, though. Jaskier curled over the instrument just so, like he was hugging it close to his heart, but still sitting as tall as he could so no one would think him small. 

“He looks great up there, doesn’t he?” Triss asked at Geralt’s side, nudging him. 

Geralt grunted back, but Triss seemed to take that as an agreement, judging by her soft laugh. Finally Jaskier looked up, and it only took a moment for Jaskier to find first Triss, and then Geralt beside her. His smile grew even larger, and he flubbed a chord change, but in a moment it was like it never happened. Triss nudged Geralt again, but he didn’t look at her. He could already feel his face warming just at the  _ thought _ of her teasing.

“So, no Ciri tonight? Don’t tell me you’ve already calmed down enough to hire a babysitter. I had bets she’d have to be  _ at least _ sitting on her own before you allowed anyone you’ve known less than ten years watch her.” 

Jaskier had switched songs, to something a little louder, a little more lively when Triss started speaking. It was easier when he was like this to turn away. Songs like these Jaskier could play in his sleep--it didn’t matter quite as much if he didn’t hit a string quite right, because the melody didn’t depend on holding notes, according to Jaskier. As a result, these were his more “crowd pleasing” songs, in that this was when Jaskier interacted with his audience. If Geralt wanted to watch Jaskier wink at random people in the crowd he could go… really  _ anywhere _ with Jaskier.

“Yen has her for the next few days,” Geralt answered, turning fully to Triss. “She has to at least be able to turn her own head intentionally before I’ll let anyone else put her to sleep.” He shuddered to think what could happen with a  _ teenager _ watching his fragile, tiny baby.

“Ah, that explains why she’s not here.”

Geralt snorted. “She told me to tell Jaskier to break his legs.” 

“I think you mean--”

“No, I don’t.”

Triss grinned then shrugged her shoulders as if to say  _ What can you do? _ And, really, that was the question when it came to Jaskier and Yennefer. While Triss was interested in trying to get them to kiss and make up, Geralt was content to only be cautiously bewildered at their every interaction. And try not to get singed himself when they inevitably set enough other on fire.

It took a long time of idle chit-chat before Jaskier finally took a break. Normally, Geralt enjoyed Triss’s company, but at that moment all he was wishing for was his bed and some silence. He didn’t even notice Jaskier come to their table, because he was too busy pinching the bridge of his nose in some sort of effort to stay awake.

“Aw, are we keeping you out, old man?” Jaskier teased, leaning against the table. He probably would have sat, if there were any chairs left. Geralt started to stand, to offer him his seat, but Jaskier waved him off. “No, I’ve been sitting this whole time. I need to stretch my legs a little. I’m glad you missed my walk over here; my left leg fell asleep and it was a little… stiff. I look like I had a very nice night last night.”

Geralt snorted. Triss reached across the tabletop and covered Jaskier’s hands with her own.

“You’re doing  _ wonderfully _ . This crowd loves you!”

Jaskier flushed and bowed his head a little. Geralt found himself staring at him, at the way his cheeks became so beautifully rosy in his embarrassment. Before he could school his own thoughts, Geralt wondered if his cheek felt as warm as it looked. He felt his own face heating up, just a bit. Obviously that was just due to how many people were there. It was warm.

“They’re really receptive, aren’t they? The owner’s pleased with me. I think I’ll get an invite back when I’m done.”

“Really?” Triss’s voice raised an octave in her excitement. “Jaskier, that’s wonderful! You could become a house name here!”

“God, I hope so. They might even pay me next time. Even with a pitiable fee and if I get even half the tips I’ve been making, I could get a  _ whole _ McDonalds meal. Off the regular menu, not the dollar menu. Fancy, right?” Jaskier wiggled his eyebrows and even Geralt was snorting into his glass.

“Careful, Triss. Soon he’ll think he’s too good for us,” Geralt added.

“I’m sorry, who spoke just now? The voice sounded familiar, but it’s been so long… Geralt? Geralt Rivia? That couldn’t be you, could it?” Jaskier’s disbelief had Geralt rolling his eyes, even before Jaskier wrapped a hand around Geralt’s bicep. “Triss! You won’t believe this! I think this man is actually Geralt,  _ outside _ of the apartment! I never thought I’d see the day.” Jaskier’s free hand splayed out over his chest and he looked up at the ceiling. “It’s a miracle. Thank you, God.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“It  _ has _ been a while, Geralt,” Triss agreed, and Geralt glared at her. Traitor. “This better not be a fluke, because I’ve missed you desperately. Jaskier’s impression of you is good, but doesn’t beat the real thing.”

“Hear hear!” Jaskier said. He beamed at Geralt. “And I’d like to point out that my impression of you is  _ spot on _ . I just talk too much, apparently.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and stood up from the table. “As great as this is, I’m going to go. Need some sleep.” It took every ounce of his willpower not to yawn at that exact moment; he was already leaving far before anyone else would even dream of it. He definitely didn’t need to add to it with a perfectly timed yawn. “Good to see you, Triss.”

Triss stood up as well and gave Geralt a quick hug. “Good to see you, too, Geralt. I want to come visit you and Ciri soon, okay?” 

Geralt grunted his agreement, then felt Jaskier’s hands take his arm. Part of him wanted to complain about everyone touching him. A bigger part of him didn’t want to scare Jaskier off.

“I’ll walk you to close your tab,” Jaskier said. Geralt shrugged and off they went with a wave to Triss.

Jaskier didn’t say anything until Geralt was signing his receipt. Then, when he did, he leaned against the bartop and stared off at the crowd, though his furtive glances Geralt’s way told Geralt that Jaskier was maybe a little less casual than he was trying to come off as.

“I’m really glad you made it tonight.”

Geralt kept his face toward the receipt, but watched Jaskier through the corner of his eye. “Wouldn’t miss it,” he answered. He straightened back up, pocketed his wallet, and clapped Jaskier lightly on the shoulder. “See you at home.”

\--

“Jask? Did you hear me?”

Jaskier looked up from his sheet music. He had heard Geralt, unfortunately. He truly wished he hadn’t. Jaskier had actually been having quite a lovely day--his music students had all shown up, most of them even participated, he got a compliment from a parent, and he and Triss were going out for drinks later. It had been an all-around good day. Until this. Geralt was unfortunately very good at tanking Jaskier’s good moods.

“Yeah. When do you move out, then?” Jaskier answered, trying hard to keep his voice even.

Geralt breathed. “Next week? I think that’s how long it’s going to take to pack things up. Yen very  _ subtly _ reminded me that she’d be out of town next weekend.” Geralt rolled his eyes, but the look was fond. Jaskier’s heart seized at that, like it always did whenever he was reminded of just how much Geralt  _ loved _ Yennefer. “So I guess it has to by the end of next week.”

Jaskier nodded, turning back to the sheet music adding a quick  _ pianissimo _ \--it was supposed to be mournful, hard to be mournful without playing that bit so much quieter--before he slapped his hands on his thighs. He gathered his materials and stood up, then glanced at Geralt, who looked very much like he wanted to say something. Jaskier hesitated, but Geralt didn’t stir, so he finished packing away his materials and strode to his bedroom door.

“I’m excited for you, Geralt. Sounds like a big step for your relationship. Forgive me, but I’m meeting Triss for drinks in a bit, and I really must get ready.”

Hours later found Jaskier  _ not _ sulking into his glass of wine. His fourth glass in an hour. He was also  _ not _ drunk, but that one was at least up for debate. The way Triss was looking at him as if his puppy had just died, however, was absolutely horrible and Jaskier would be quite happy if she would stop.

“So are you going to tell me what’s wrong yet? Or are we going to keep pretending that it’s just your disappointment that you’re not the next Justin Bieber yet?” Triss asked, and only she could manage to make that level of  _ sass _ sound almost comforting. It was her big, beautiful, puppy-dog eyes, he was sure of it.

“I don’t want to be  _ Justin Bieber _ . I want to be--I want to be--like--Hozier. Or. Bruno Mars. Or. Someone that’s not a complete asshat. Those are terrible examples. I’ll never be Hozier.” Jaskier sighed. He could have made a drinking game out of him sighing. He knew he was being a buzzkill, but at least Triss was the least likely to hold it against him.

“Jaskier, come on. That was  _ so _ not the point. What’s got you trying to drown yourself in your wine?” Triss pressed, and she looked wholly unimpressed with him. He didn’t blame her. He was pretty unimpressed with himself, too.

Jaskier took a deep breath and plastered on a smile. “Didn’t you hear the happy news? Geralt and Yennefer are moving in together!”

Triss’s face scrunched up in sympathy again, and Jaskier wilted back into his glass.

“Ah. I had heard they were considering it. Geralt told you today, then?”

“Yeah. Just before I left. Hence my sunny disposition.” He scoffed at himself, then forced himself to sit up. He didn’t have to literally melt into a wallowing puddle of  _ sad _ . He could at least sit up straight. “I’m happy for them, I am, it’s just…”

“It just hurts?” Triss added helpfully. She reached out and rested her hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah. I don’t want to carry on being this lovesick fool. I want to be happy for my friend and his relationship. Clearly, things are getting serious. Clearly, this is going to last for awhile. But I can’t help but feel that I’ve wasted my time. It could have been me if I just… told him.” Jaskier ran a hand through his hair, for once not even caring that doing so left it a mess. 

He didn’t bother to say the unspoken fear: that even if he had told Geralt, things would be the same as they were now, only Jaskier would lose his best friend. Somehow, this was the more desirable outcome. At least this way he could keep Geralt.

“You know what would make me feel better?” Jaskier said after a long, awkward, pitiable silence.

Triss’s eyebrows went up, and her voice was hesitant, “What?”

“If you’d sing karaoke.”

Triss rolled her eyes and pushed his shoulder. They argued about it for half an hour and over several more drinks. By the end of the argument, Jaskier truly  _ did _ feel better. And he felt  _ amazing _ once Triss got up there and sang “I Need A Hero” to the great joy of all the other patrons.

\--

“Geralt! Geralt, get in here!”

Geralt was pretty sure he had never, in his life, moved faster. It’s not a large apartment, so it didn’t take long for him to find Jaskier and Ciri in the living room, but being yelled at to “get in here” by the man currently watching his daughter made time stop. Geralt practically skidded to a halt when he saw Jaskier grinning up at him from his place hovering over Cirilla’s tiny body.

“Watch this,” Jaskier said, absolutely beaming, and then blew a raspberry on her stomach.

There probably wasn’t anything  _ that _ amazing about the giggle to anyone else. But to Geralt, it was perfect. Ciri had never done that before, and it was the most perfect little sound he thought he had ever heard. Jaskier looked back up at him, and Geralt could feel his own face get overtaken with an open-mouthed smile as he dropped to his knees beside them. 

Jaskier scooted back, giving Geralt room to lean in and try it again. To his great satisfaction, she was interested in a repeat performance. As good as it was to hear the sound when Jaskier elicited it, there was something even better about  _ Geralt _ being the reason his baby was laughing.

When he looked back at Jaskier, he was positively beaming at Geralt, phone in hand, snapping pictures. Geralt rolled his eyes, but Jaskier only laughed.

“You’ll thank me when she’s older, you know. I’ll be the only reason you two have any pictures,” Jaskier said, shrugging.

Geralt didn’t want to think about her getting older, though. He picked up his baby girl and held her up to look at her beautiful little face. She was perfect right now, right in this moment. Thinking about her getting bigger was both thrilling and absolutely terrifying.

\--

“You know, I was thinking,” Jaskier started.

Geralt snorted. He fastened the snaps on Ciri’s diaper and redressed her, then picked the baby up and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “This should be good,” he answered, as he dropped Ciri in Jaskier’s lap with a smirk. Jaskier rolled his eyes at Geralt just before Geralt turned to dispose of the dirty diaper and wash his hands.

“You know, one day you’re going to have to find new material. None of this ‘This should be good’ or ‘That’s a change’ or ‘Didn’t know you could do that,” nonsense,” Jaskier called to him as soon as the water turned off. Then, in a higher voice he continued to Ciri, “Your daddy’s a jerk, isn’t he, sweetheart? You’ll be  _ much _ nicer to Jaskier, won’t you? I can tell by your _beautiful_ smile that you will.”   
  
Geralt snorted and plopped down on the couch beside Jaskier. Jaskier didn’t offer to pass Ciri over to him and Geralt didn’t request her. Instead, Jaskier continued making faces at the baby as she grinned back at him.

“Are you going to tell me, or do you want to tell her instead?” Geralt asked.

“I think I want to tell Ciri instead. What d’ya think, Ciri? Oh, I can tell  _ you _ want to know what I’ve been thinking about. You’ll probably like it better than Daddy will, anyway. He’s such a grump. Really should appreciate me more. We’ll have him outnumbered, though. Once, you know, you can talk.” Jaskier’s eyes never left Ciri’s face, and her focus didn’t waver, either, for that matter. She seemed completely fascinated with every word out of Jaskier’s mouth, and though Geralt rolled his eyes, he couldn’t deny his fond smile.

“I think she’s getting impatient, Jask.”

“‘I think she’s getting impatient,’ he says. As if you  _ both _ weren’t hanging on my every word.” Geralt jabbed him in the side, and Jaskier contorted toward Geralt’s body as he let out a squack. “Oh,  _ alright _ . I was  _ thinking _ . Ciri’s going to be old enough to be able to sleep in her own room soon. Six months, yeah? Not that you have to transition her immediately at six months, of course, but eventually she’s going to need space to move out. Kind of hard to do that in a two bedroom apartment.”

Geralt nodded slowly, wondering what the hell Jaskier was getting at. He couldn’t quite squash the feeling of dread building in him, though. If this was a preamble to Jaskier saying he didn’t want to live with Geralt and Ciri anymore, Geralt wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle that. Even if he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, except  _ maybe _ Jaskier with the right prodding, Geralt couldn’t imagine doing this alone. Moving back in with Jaskier had made everything so much easier to manage, both practically with Cirilla’s care and emotionally with handling with his divorce and the sudden  _ responsibility _ that came with Cirilla.

“So. What if we…” Jaskier hesitated, now. Geralt turned to look at him and was surprised to find he looked apprehensive. Jaskier swallowed and shrugged, running a hand over Cirilla’s short, fine hair. “What if we found some place bigger? A townhouse, or something? Assuming you’d, well. Want to be roommates, still. I understand, if not. Usually having a baby means you don’t do the whole  _ roommates _ thing anymore. It was stupid. Forget I said anything. You probably already had a plan for this.”

Jaskier looked as if he was going to say more, continue to ramble his anxiety away, and Geralt found himself endeared to his friend. He didn’t continue, instead Jaskier clamped his mouth shut with what looked to be considerable effort. Geralt watched Jaskier and tried to answer, but found the words caught in his throat. So, instead, Geralt turned to Ciri.

“What do you think, Ciri? Maybe somewhere with a yard, too?” Geralt asked, running his thumb along her cheek and smiling when she turned to focus on him.

Geralt could see Jaskier turn out of the corner of his eye, too, but Geralt did not look back at him. A moment later, Jaskier scooted closer to press their bodies together, leaning against Geralt. Geralt wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s body, his hand resting on Jaskier’s hip as he tugged him even closer. He tried not to think about how, if this had been Yen, the gesture would have had a specific implication. He tried not to think about how, maybe, this had the same implication.

“Definitely a yard. One with actual grass, not concrete,” Jaskier said after a moment. Geralt appreciated that they didn’t need to discuss Geralt’s almost-answer. It just hung between them like a promise. They would continue to do this together.

“And close to a park.”

“Good schools, too. Ones with music programs. Don’t even scoff at me, Geralt. You’re going to have a musically gifted little girl whether you like it or not. I’ll even teach her how to play lute. She’ll  _ kill _ at parties.”

“What parties are you going to where playing  _ lute _ works out for you?”

“The good ones. You’re just jealous that I’ll teach Ciri but not you.”

“I never asked to learn.”

“Neither did she. But I know you both secretly desire it. You have a burning fire inside you that just yearns to learn the lute. It will never be stoked, though, because you mocked my expertise one too many times.”

“Whatever you say, Jaskier.”

\--

Geralt was spending entirely too much time in bars for his liking.

Even he had to admit that Posadas was a very  _ nice _ bar. It was cool enough to attract a younger, early-twenties crowd (who very  _ enthusiastically _ enjoyed Jaskier’s performances), but clean and open enough that every so often the tables were filled by people more in their mid-thirties. Not much older, unfortunately, and though Geralt was officially in his mid-thirties, he found himself feeling decades older than the oldest patrons. At first glance, he belonged there just as much as anyone else. Truly, though, Geralt had always been too old for the bar scene.

Jaskier had been playing here on Friday nights for  _ weeks _ now. No one could dispute the way he pulled in a crowd, and Geralt had a feeling he was the reason Posadas was a hit destination now. Even the owner seemed to recognize this, if Jaskier’s weekly paycheck was anything to go off of. Geralt even received free drinks, on occasion, but only when Jaskier ordered for him. It happened less and less now that Jaskier was growing in fame. HIs  _ adoring fans _ wanted Jaskier’s attention, and Jaskier was more than willing to give it to them.

It was worth it to see Jaskier play--or, more specifically, to see the way Jaskier lit up every time Geralt came to see him play. He had only missed one performance so far. Ciri had caught a nasty cough and both she and Geralt were miserable that entire night. Jaskier had assured him he understood, but he was noticeably deflated when he described the show.

Still, the way the bar was gradually getting more and more packed was wearing on Geralt. It was easier when someone else was there to keep him company; then it had the added benefit of taking care of his obligation to remind his friends he  _ did, _ in fact, love them, it was just hard to be a new parent and have a full time job.

Tonight, his company was Yennefer. Triss had  _ insisted _ she would babysit Ciri, claiming that they needed to go out and be  _ adults _ for once, rather than  _ parents _ , but Geralt knew she really just wanted time with the baby without Geralt breathing down her neck. He needed to back off, he knew, but it was  _ hard _ to remind himself that others recognized how fragile she was, too. Triss, of all people, was not about to let anything happen to her.

“All this is for Jaskier?” Yennefer asked, and she actually looked impressed. Geralt would have to tell Jaskier later. “I’ll be damned. The little minstrel managed it.”   
  
Geralt nodded, though he continued looking for Jaskier. He had promised to save them a table, and Geralt was  _ praying _ he would make good on that promise. The idea of standing for his entire set among all these people with no concept of personal space made him want to shrivel up and die, and he wasn’t being dramatic, that was Jaskier’s thing. When he found the familiar mop of brown hair at a table his relief was instantaneous, and he caught Yennefer’s attention to lead her in his direction.

“Geralt! You came!” Jaskier greeted, grinning broadly as he stood up. His grin didn’t dampen as he turned to Yennefer, but the glint in his eye screamed  _ mischief _ . “And, ah, I thought I felt a chill in the air. Yennefer, I’d say it’s a pleasure, but I hear lying makes your nose grow, and mine is just perfect as-is.”

“Jaskier, always a pleasure,” Yennefer answered, not waiting for an invitation to take the empty seat beside him. “You’re looking particularly garish tonight. Afraid your voice won’t be enough to hold their attention on its own?”

Jaskier snorted and they both smirked at each other for long enough that Geralt was half convinced they were having some sort of silent  _ conversation _ . Or a staring contest of some sort. Geralt cleared his throat and they finally remembered his presence, and Jaskier lifted himself off the stool. Geralt took the seat and didn’t react to the way Jaskier’s hand glided across his shoulders, but Yennefer’s steadily raised eyebrow had him flushing a bit at the contact.

“How are you handling Cirilla’s first babysitter?” Jaskier asked. He leaned in toward them with his elbows propping him up.

“First? Haven’t  _ you _ babysat her?” Yennefer asked, a smirk joining her raised eyebrows.

Jaskier looked a little caught off guard, like he hadn’t considered that him watching Cirilla would technically be considered  _ babysitting _ . Though, honestly, Geralt hadn’t really thought of it that way, either. Jaskier wasn’t her parent, of course, but he was definitely a step up from even Triss. Right? Was there a word for what Jaskier was?

“Yeah, I guess. Just feels different considering I also live with her, you know?” Jaskier finally settled on, shrugging. “I mean, Geralt looks about ready to bolt now that I’ve called attention to the fact that neither one of you is with her. I  _ hope _ he doesn’t look that way when I’ve got her.”

Yennefer hummed, and her fucking eyebrows were  _ still _ high on her face. Geralt suddenly wanted this entire interaction to end, just so Yennefer would stop looking so damn  _ interested _ in whatever had caught her attention, but he could only imagine that when Jaskier left, it was going to get worse.

“I’m fine,” Geralt said. “Triss has her. And promised me she would update once an hour.”

“Those are going to be very exciting texts.” Jaskier turned a smile Geralt’s way and crossed his arms over one another on the tabletop. “Completely centered around the novel information that, yes, she’s still sleeping. Don’t tell me you’re going to make her go in and check that she’s breathing every hour.”

Geralt huffed. “The risk for SIDS significantly lowers at six months. She’s not six months yet.”

Jaskier laughed and straightened up. He winked at Yennefer and shook his head with a pat on Geralt’s arm. “Alright, I’m going to get you drinks. Same beer as last time, Geralt? Yen, they have a great drink I want you to try. Before you say anything, I know, it’s not wine, but it’s a house special, and I think you’ll like it. And if you hate it, well, it’s free.”

With their confirmation, Jaskier strode off to the bar. He had barely left the table before Yennefer turned on Geralt.

“Does it feel different, Geralt?” Yen asked, and Geralt did not care for her mocking tone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Yen.” Geralt could have used the drink  _ right now _ .

“Triss said you two were looking for a new place. Tell me, are you getting a two bedroom, or three?”

“Obviously three. We’re getting a bigger place so Ciri can have her own room.”

“And what will you do with the third?”

Geralt took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was suddenly outstandingly tired. 

“Yennefer, I  _ don’t know _ what you’re trying to imply here. We’re getting a three bedroom because there are three of us. One for me, one for Ciri, and one for Jaskier. Now would you  _ let it go _ ?”

This time, when Yennefer stared at him, Geralt turned to face her. He had the pleasure (there really was no pleasure in it at all) of watching her face turn from amusement to pity. That was far worse. What in the world could she even pity him for? Geralt abruptly turned back to face the stage, despite the fact that there was nothing to look at except an empty chair and a microphone.

“You know you don’t have to wait until the divorce is finalized, right?” Yennefer said, leaning in and talking as quietly as she could without sacrificing being heard. “I would not condemn you for it. We tried, gave it undoubtedly our best effort, for a long time. You’re allowed to go after what makes you happy. I only wish you wouldn’t lie to me; I thought we were past that.”

Geralt sighed. “I’ll keep that in mind when there’s something to tell. But there’s nothing.”

“I wouldn’t say nothing.”

And then Jaskier returned with their drinks and a “See, look, even the color just  _ screams _ you” as he pushed the glasses toward them, and then it was time for him to go on stage and he was a flurry of excitement about that, grabbing the guitar beneath the table and insisting they at least wave at him if they left early, and then the crowd got  _ louder _ as they realized Jaskier was beginning, and Jaskier was playing and looking so great, so relaxed, so happy.

It all felt like a dream. Geralt experienced this moment as if he was watching it from above, and all he could think was  _ I wouldn’t say nothing _ .

What the fuck was  _ that _ supposed to mean?

\--

A bachelor party was not at all what Jaskier was expecting when Geralt and Yennefer’s engagement was announced. He supposed it made sense. After all, a stag party was basically mandatory for any groom-to-be, and Eskel and Lambert were not the type to allow Geralt to miss out on any sort of party on his behalf. Jaskier was  _ more _ than willing to assist in the revelry.

Jaskier even thought Geralt was having a good time. He was drunker than Jaskier had ever seen him, and somehow  _ less _ chatty because of it. But he smiled a little easier, said yes a little more (or, nodded his head, rather), and laughed freely with his brothers. He even laughed freely with Jaskier, on occasion, and gifted Jaskier with touches here and there. Nothing major, of course. Nothing Jaskier had ever hoped for. But even claps on the back and jabs in the side were welcome if it meant Geralt was feeling free enough to express himself physically.

Jaskier saw the way Geralt was physical with his brothers, after all. He would probably never be on their level--and he was quite alright with that, he didn’t think he ever wanted to be full-body tackled in the middle of a bar--but he was clearly  _ up there _ . Jaskier was held in high enough esteem to wrap the extremely-drunk Geralt’s arm around his shoulder. Geralt leaned his body against Jaskier, and Jaskier recognized the trust there that Jaskier would not let Geralt fall. Geralt, always in control, let Jaskier lead the way back to the apartment they had previously shared. They had agreed he would sleep there, since Yennefer was having her own bachelorette party tonight.

Jaskier wasn’t sober, but he was definitely the more grounded of the two. Away from the bars and their friends, Geralt was somewhat more chatty.

“Your hair smells like… lavender?” Geralt slurred into Jaskier’s temple.

“That would be my shampoo. There’s nothing wrong with smelling nice, you know.” Geralt hummed in response.

The next time he spoke, Jaskier was struggling to pull his FOB from his pocket to open the front door. Geralt was  _ not _ making it easier. He  _ could _ stand on his own, but every time Jaskier tried to set him up on his own two feet, Geralt just followed after him. The third time was the most successful, and Jaskier allowed Geralt to press his forehead into Jaskier’s shoulder--it couldn’t have been comfortable, surely his shoulder was bony as hell--but he was  _ thoroughly _ distracted by Geralt’s hand running up Jaskier’s back and into his hair.

“Geralt, love, what are you doing?” Jaskier asked.

“You have so much fucking  _ hair _ ,” he answered, as if  _ that _ had anything to do with what Jaskier asked.

Jaskier sighed, but didn’t press it, because  _ finally _ he had managed to get the FOB out and the door open. With some effort, he stuttered Geralt’s legs back to life and they walked inside and to the elevator. Geralt’s side pressed hard against Jaskier’s and Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat as Geralt’s arm wrapped around Jaskier’s waist. Rather than address this, however, he just tugged Geralt forward, down the hallway, and to the apartment.

It was dark. Jaskier pulled away from Geralt to turn on the light, but before he could, Geralt’s weight caught him off guard as the absolute  _ oaf _ followed him  _ again. _ Jaskier fell against the wall, and Geralt came with him, effectively trapping Jaskier beneath his chest.

“Alright, big guy, this isn’t going to help us get anywhere,” Jaskier whispered. Something about the dark made it feel like they had to be quiet. If he was a bit more sober, he would have laughed at himself.

Geralt wasn’t laughing, though. He snaked an arm around Jaskier’s waist, his other forearm framing Jaskier’s head. He was close, impossibly close, and for a torturous moment, Jaskier wondered what it would be like to lean forward and kiss him.

“Jask,” Geralt mumbled, and pressed their foreheads together.

“Geralt, what are you doing?” Jaskier asked, and, God, he was glad Geralt was likely too drunk to comprehend tones, because Jaskier’s voice was horrifyingly wrecked. “Geralt, you need to--”

He stopped, though, because Geralt gently thumbed his face. The same hand took Jaskier’s jaw between his curled pointer finger and thumb, and the thumb smoothed lines across Jaskier’s stubble. Jaskier let out a shaky breath, closed his eyes, and for a moment, let himself  _ forget _ .

Only a moment, though. “You need to stop.”

“Why?” Jaskier could feel Geralt’s breath against his lips. It would be so easy to just lean forward, close the distance between them, but-- _ no _ .

“You’re engaged.”

“Not usually a problem for you.”

Jaskier tensed. His blood ran cold. Was that what Geralt thought of him? It wasn’t exactly a high opinion of Jaskier for Geralt to think he’d be willing  _ now _ just because he had, on occasion, slept with slept with others who were in unhappy relationships.

“Well. It is now. It is for you.” Jaskier pushed Geralt off him with as much force as he could muster. He didn't have a good enough angle, but it was enough to make Geralt stumble back. Jaskier stepped to the side and flipped on the lights, and confusion painted Geralt’s features as he blinked away the brightness. “I won’t let you  _ lower yourself _ to my level.”

Geralt froze, too. He must have realized what he said, because a pained look crossed his face. “Jaskier, I--”

“It’s fine. I know it’s just nerves. Just. Go to bed. You can take my bed. Your hangover will be worse than mine, and sleeping on the couch won’t help any.”

Geralt looked torn for a moment, like he wanted to say more, but Jaskier didn’t let him. He ushered Geralt into his bedroom and shut the door behind him. Jaskier didn’t slam it, but he did shut it firmly, with a little bit of noise, to try to dissuade Geralt from coming back out. As for himself, he went to the couch and fell into a fitful sleep.

When he woke up, it was almost like any other night out, with Geralt awake before him and making his “hangover cure” (Jaskier was pretty sure it was just whatever garbage he could find in the kitchen, solely to make Jaskier feel as if he was better, when actually it was just terrible). Jaskier took his time getting up and stumbling his way to the kitchen, his clothes from the other night feeling uncomfortably tight and wrinkled.

“How are you not fucked up, hunched over the toilet?” Jaskier asked, sitting down at the small kitchen table--a card table, really--and frowning at Geralt.

“Already threw up. Had a burst of energy.” 

Jaskier snorted. Of course he would. Then Geralt was dropping a plate of food in front of him, and even  _ that _ was a bit much for how hungover Geralt should be. Jaskier didn’t even realize he had all these foods, especially not anything to make fucking French toast. He looked up curiously at Geralt, who was rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Jask, what I said last night--”

Jaskier sighed. “Geralt, I’d really rather not--”

“I’m sorry. It was out of line. I was out of line. I don’t think of you that way, I was just. Nervous. Like you said. But I didn’t mean to imply anything about you. And… thank you. For stopping me from being an idiot.”

Jaskier managed a smile, but he wasn't under any false pretenses that it was believable. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Yennefer. Just between you and me.”

“That wasn’t--Well. Thank you. But that wasn’t why I was apologizing.”

“I know it wasn’t,” Jaskier answered, picking up a fork. “Are you eating with me, or am I eating alone?”

Geralt’s face was overtaken with relief as Jaskier changed the subject, though he was slow to join Jaskier at the table. 

They didn’t talk about what had happened further. Geralt probably tried, maybe even succeeded, to forget about it. Jaskier tried, and failed.

Geralt married Yennefer three days later. It was beautiful.

\--

Cirilla  _ loved _ solid foods.

She loved reaching out and attempting to grab them herself. She loved stealing the spoon from Geralt with her  _ absurdly _ strong hands. She loved trying to put the food in her mouth and missing at least 75% of the time, but she just kept trying. She loved putting the banana pieces in her mouth and smashing them and pushing them out because her tongue kept thrusting forward, used to taking only a bottle.

Geralt loved watching her. He did not love the slight bit of panic that happened every time she gagged on a bit of food she had only  _ just  _ put in her mouth. Jaskier insisted this was fine, that her gag reflex was much farther forward in her mouth than it was for adults, and this was teaching her how not to choke in the future. Geralt was pretty sure he was full of shit. But, Ciri had yet to turn any color other than baby-skin-pink, so he supposed he couldn’t make any sort of claims about Jaskier’s knowledge yet.

Jaskier would be home from work any minute, and Geralt was antsy for it. He had more or less decided he wasn’t likely to kill his baby in any of the ways he obsessed over, but solid food was a new frontier, and Geralt was not sure about the baby-led weaning both Jaskier and Yennefer had insisted on. Purees seemed safer and much better for Geralt’s sanity, but he was outvoted (and when the hell had  _ Jaskier _ become a voting party in this democracy?). At least if Jaskier was home for this, there would be another person to be there if Ciri choked, and likely  _ wouldn’t _ panic and freeze up.

He was late, though, and Ciri actually managed to get through just about everything before she lost interest in eating and gained interest in  _ smashing. _ As much fun as that particular trick was, Geralt had spent entirely too long last time trying to pry avocado out of her seat to allow this to continue. He picked Ciri up, messy hands and all, and brought her to the sink, plopping her in it and turning on the water to wash her hands. 

It was while Geralt was trying to wash banana out from between Ciri’s fingers that Jaskier finally came bounding through the door.

“Geralt! Ah,  _ fuck _ . Cirilla, we are really going to  _ have  _ to discuss where you leave your toys, sweetheart. Geralt! Guess what!”

Geralt hummed his acknowledgement and Jaskier slid into the kitchen. Literally. He had removed his shoes and slid on the tile in his socks until he was  _ right _ in Geralt’s personal space.

“Geralt. Guess what,” Jaskier repeated, his grin so big it honestly looked almost  _ painful _ .

“I couldn’t begin to guess,” Geralt answered, picking the now-clean Ciri up and settling her in Jaskier’s arms. If he was bothered by her still being wet, he didn’t show it, and instead pretended to eat the fingers that clapped excitedly on Jaskier’s face. Geralt handed him a towel, then set to work cleaning off the high chair.

“I got a call from  _ Valdo Marx _ . Well, his assistant, rather.”

Geralt furrowed his eyebrows as he brought the tray to the sink. “Isn’t that the, uh, singer you hate? The one you said had no  _ soul _ and was flat every time he tried to hit a note higher than… whatever note it was.” He looked up for confirmation from Jaskier, who looked taken aback and had stopped patting Ciri down with the towel. Ciri was now gnawing on the towel. “What? I listen.”

“ _ Apparently _ ,” Jaskier answered, and though Geralt had turned back to the sink to spray the tray down, he could hear Jaskier’s smile. “Well, yes, I did say that. And I still think that. But I have to admit he has made a name for himself.  _ But _ . He’s on tour right now. And apparently stopped  _ here _ at some point and happened to catch me playing. I really don’t understand how he could have been there without me realizing, so I suspect he’s lying and it was really someone who worked for him who saw me, but the details don’t much matter. The point is, his opening act bailed on him and he has a few more weeks of shows and he--well, his assistant--asked  _ me _ to open for him!”

Geralt about dropped the tray and turned to Jaskier. “Really? You’re going on  _ tour _ ?” Geralt asked, dumbfounded.

Now he understood Jaskier’s grin. It was still just as huge, taking up his entire face. “Really! Three full weeks of playing every other night to different crowds! Granted, no one much cares about the opening act, but even if I got  _ one _ person to buy my CD or look me up on some streaming service, that’s  _ something _ .”

Geralt found himself grinning right back at Jaskier. “They’ll care. Of course they will. Congrats, Jask. You deserve this.”

Jaskier  _ beamed _ at Geralt, then turned his face to Cirilla, who was trying  _ hard _ for Jaskier’s attention with babbling and patting his face. He spun her around and she squealed, suddenly sounding so  _ big _ and when did Geralt’s baby become so much of a  _ person _ rather than a little lump that just stared at him?

“Hear that, sweetheart? Jaskier’s gonna make it  _ big _ . Even your daddy thinks so, and he’s the toughest critic there is.” Jaskier pressed a messy kiss to her cheek. “I’m going to miss you so much, though. Promise me you won’t do anything major while I’m gone? I don’t understand how your mommy can  _ stand it _ when she travels. Even three days away from you is  _ far _ too long.”

A pit grew in Geralt’s stomach at every word Jaskier said to Cirilla. He had realized, in an abstract way, that of course this meant Jaskier was going to be leaving. But he hadn’t  _ really _ realized it in a practical way until Jaskier was speaking to the infant. Three weeks without Jaskier was a very long time. He had gone longer in the past, of course, but now things felt different, somehow.

Unfortunately, Geralt’s concern must have shown on his face. Jaskier stopped playing with Ciri and took a step toward Geralt, touching his arm.

“Geralt? What’s wrong?”

Geralt shook his head. “Nothing. When do you leave?”

Jaskier paused, obviously deliberating something, then shrugged the shoulder he wasn’t using to support Ciri. “In two weeks. Two days after the, uh. The fifteen.”

Ah. Two days after the divorce was finalized. Well, that was just great.

“I could postpone, say I had a prior engagement.”

Geralt shook his head again. “No, it’s fine. You have to go. This is huge. My marriage was over months ago. Hell, pretty much a year ago. This day is just a formality.”

The words felt hollow even to Geralt, and Jaskier hesitated a moment before he put on a thankful smile. They both knew it wasn’t fine, but the least Geralt could do now was pretend for Jaskier that it was.

\--

“God, Geralt, you’re right. This place  _ is _ perfect.”

Geralt’s chest swelled with pride at Jaskier’s words. As soon as he had walked into this house, he knew. He had barely made it halfway through the open house before he was picturing where their belongings would go. This room was just big enough for their couch, the pack-n-play, and would have room for them to walk around, even with Ciri’s toys strewn everywhere. Jaskier could have his own room for his instruments, instead of awkwardly trying to fit everything into his bedroom. Geralt would probably have to put his own desk and computer in his room, but that was fine. He figured that was the trade off for having a three bedroom house with a full yard  _ and _ in their price range.

Geralt ran his hand up and down Ciri’s back as he looked around again. Though, really he was watching Jaskier look around. Geralt had already combed the place, and now he wanted to see Jaskier’s reaction to it all.

“Do you like it, Cici?” the well-meaning real-estate agent asked her.

Geralt resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The woman had been very friendly this entire time, and she  _ was _ trying to help them buy this house. And if she was a little enamored with the 7 month old, Geralt couldn’t exactly blame her. He was pretty enamored with Ciri too.

“Ciri,” Geralt corrected, and the woman looked a bit embarrassed. “She shows her love for things by spitting up on them, so since we haven’t made an offer yet, it’s probably best if she keeps her opinions to herself.”

Jaskier snorted from the other side of the room.

“So, you seemed pretty firm on a three bedroom. Does that mean you two are having more children in the future?”

Geralt’s face grew hot at the agent’s question, and he swapped Ciri in his arms to delay answering. Jaskier shot up from where he was examining the kitchen cabinets and rubbed the back of his neck.

“She’s, uh, not mine,” Jaskier answered, sounding embarrassed. “We’re just roommates.”

“Oh!” The woman exclaimed, and now she looked rather red in the face, too. “I’m so sorry, I just assumed--”

“It’s fine,” Geralt interrupted her, wanting to move on. “Jask, what do you think?”

“I think if we don’t get this house I’ll die a broken-hearted man.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “We’d like to make an offer.”

Later, paperwork completed, an offer made, and the excitement still coursing through their veins, they sat on the couch and  _ tried _ to watch a movie. Sort of. Geralt was anxiously checking his emails, despite knowing they wouldn’t hear anything yet. Jaskier was plucking a tune on his guitar, but didn’t seem to like anything he was producing. Maybe he just needed something to do with his hands.

“Sorry I won’t really be much of a help with the whole buying process. Or looking further, if this one doesn’t work out.”

Geralt shrugged. “Don’t be. Your tour is the only reason you were able to cough up the money to buy rather than rent.” Which, no wonder the woman thought they were a couple. Who the hell bought a house for his daughter with his best friend? Geralt, apparently.

“True enough,” Jaskier agreed, grinning. “It really is perfect, Geralt. I hope we get it.”

“I do, too.”

\--

“Yennefer?” Jaskier asked, slowly setting down his work bag in his confusion. “What are you doing here?”

Yennefer just let out a disgruntled breath and kept looking, tearing through the kitchen cabinets and slamming them as she, apparently, didn’t find what she was looking for. Jaskier was half afraid she was going to break something. She was more than a little confused about how she even got into his apartment.

“Yen,” he repeated, standing in the doorway.

“ _ What _ ?” she spat back at him, only stopping long enough to speak, then tearing through another cabinet.

“Hey,” Jaskier said. He stepped up to her and put a tentative hand on her arm, which she wrenched back and glared at him. He reached out again, this time stopping just before touching her, and she deflated with a sigh. Jaskier took this as his cue to try again, to touch her elbow lightly to lead her to the chair. “Coffee?” She nodded weakly.

Jaskier didn’t speak again until they each had a hot mug in their hands and were staring at each other from either side of the table.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, then? Also, how the hell you got into my apartment. Let’s start there. If you tell me you can pick locks, I’m going to lose my damn mind and start sleeping with a knife.”

Yennefer scoffed, but the sound lacked any bite. “I stole Geralt’s key.” Jaskier waited as she took a long sip of her coffee. She wasn’t like Geralt, who would keep everything buried deep inside him unless Jaskier prodded past his breaking point. If she wanted to tell him, she would, and if she didn’t, she would have left by now.

Still, though, it took a long time. The silence was honestly pretty awkward, but Jaskier, for once, was not about to break it.

“We had another stupid fight,” Yen finally said. She eyed him suspiciously and Jaskier held up his hands as if he needed to somehow declare his innocence. “What, no snide remarks?”

“Hey, I hit  _ at _ the belt, not below it. Marital problems aren’t exactly my inspiration for humor. That doesn’t exactly explain why you wanted to destroy my kitchen, though.” He took a chance and nudged her leg with his toe. Apparently he was lucky today, because Yennefer even  _ smiled _ at him, just a little. He almost missed it when she hid behind her mug.

“It started over some wine glass. Some engraved thing you gave him for a birthday, or something. Apparently he couldn’t find it. It became a bigger fight, like it always does. Start small, then get at what’s  _ really _ bothering us. Where we’re really dissatisfied. I thought if I could find it, it’d work as a peace offering. He’s just so  _ ornery _ sometimes.” Yennefer sighed. “Then again, I guess that was part of what I liked at first. That he fights like I do.”

Jaskier hummed and stood up. It only took a second of rifling through the cabinet below the sink--where he had hidden away everything Geralt forgot, in a fit of self-pity--to find the glass Yennefer spoke of. He took his seat again and slid the glass over to her.

Yennefer stared at the glass for a moment, then back up at Jaskier. Jaskier had always prided himself on being able to read  _ anyone _ , but Yen had always eluded him. She kept her cards so close to her chest that often Jaskier wasn’t even sure if she was playing the same game as him.

“Thank you,” she finally said, turning to lean against the wall. Probably so she didn’t have to keep looking at Jaskier. He had that effect on people. He was just too beautiful, obviously.

“So why are you really here?” Jaskier asked after a moment. He stared down at the glass, as if looking at the etching would give him some sort of answer for how this came to be his life.

“To hate you.”

Jaskier snorted. “Well, that’s honest. Nonspecific and a bit confusing, but honest. I don’t think you had to come here to do that.”

Yennefer pursed her lips for a moment, then turned and looked Jaskier over. There was that appraisal again. Jaskier was never quite sure what she was looking for.

“He wants something to keep, Jaskier. He always has. I’m not sure if I want to be kept.”

The dread built up in Jaskier slowly, but he forced himself to ask the question anyway. “And what does that have to do with hating me?”

“You want to be kept.”

Yennefer’s gaze on him felt piercing. Jaskier was an ant under her magnifying glass, only he felt even smaller. His jaw set and his teeth clenched, and if he hadn’t been holding onto his mug, he was pretty sure he would be shaking. He hadn’t done anything wrong, he reminded himself. There was nothing wrong with loving Geralt from afar. He hadn’t acted on it. Surely Yennefer knew that.

“Yen, I would never--” he started, when the silence had stretched for far too long.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Yennefer interrupted. She downed the rest of her coffee and returned the mug to the table. “You would never hurt him. I even suspect you would never hurt me like that. I sometimes wish you would. Maybe that would make all this easier, if there was someone to blame. But, instead, you sit there in your silent hurt, while Geralt and I hurt each other over and over again. There’s nothing noble in any of this. Except, I suppose, love.” She scoffed and picked up the wine glass, examining it. “We’re all perfect for each other.”

Jaskier looked up at her, a wry smile on his face. “Should I be concerned about you overtaking me in poetry?”

“You keep to your songs, I’ll keep to my fashion empire.” She stood up. “He’s lucky to have you. Hell, I’m lucky to have you.”

Jaskier stayed where he was as she collected her things. He stood up and leaned against the kitchen archway as he heard the front door open. “Yen?” he asked.

She stopped, and turned to look at him.

“I don’t hate you. I never did,” he said.

Yennefer smiled, and  _ beautiful _ wasn’t a big enough word to describe her. “I know.”

\--

When Geralt returned to their apartment, Jaskier was sitting on the couch. Ciri was nowhere to be found and Geralt dropped everything he was holding--his coat, his bag, his phone--to the ground and fixed Jaskier with the best  _ what the fuck _ look he could muster.

“Vesemir has Ciri,” Jaskier said, jumping to his feet. “He said he needed some papa time and, well. You need some  _ Geralt _ time.”

“I’m fine,” Geralt grumbled, leaving everything behind and stomping toward his bedroom. Except he wasn’t stomping. Because he was  _ fine _ . He just had very heavy steps naturally.

Jaskier stopped him, though, with a hand on his arm. Geralt sighed and let himself be turned around, let Jaskier gather him in a hug, let himself press his face into the crook of Jaskier’s neck.

He wasn’t fine. He wasn’t even close to the word  _ fine _ right now. Even if he and Yennefer had decided to divorce over a year ago, and had been headed that way for much longer, having it  _ finalized _ was a whole different beast. He no longer had a wife. He no longer had Yennefer. There had been ugly moments, and in the end, the ugly moments had overtaken the good ones, but good ones still  _ existed _ . Never again would Geralt be able to hold her face in his hands and kiss her. Never again would he wake up beside her, and feel her fingers running down his side.

It was the best decision. Ever since agreeing on separating and divorcing, Yennefer and Geralt had been able to breathe again. He would always love her, and he was pretty sure she would always love him, but they worked better as friends and as co-parents. Now, they could spend a Saturday together again without yelling at each other. They didn’t have to get under each other’s skin just to feel something. They could breathe and feel free again. It was a relief, honestly.

So why did it hurt so bad?

Geralt didn’t know how long he allowed himself to be held by Jaskier before pulling away. His eyes were still dry, mostly because he refused to cry out of sheer force of will. Jaskier didn’t let him get far, though, before he was taking Geralt’s face between his hands, cradling it like Geralt was something fragile, and  _ that _ almost broke Geralt’s vow not to cry.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt shook his head. He rarely wanted to talk about anything, but he particularly did not want to talk about this. There wasn’t much to say, really. They had decided on their terms before they had even spoken to a lawyer. Geralt wasn’t interested in Yennefer’s money and Yennefer wasn’t interested in his. Even custody was easy to agree on: because Yennefer traveled, Geralt won primary custody while Yennefer had partial custody. The only trouble they’d had there was deciding on a child support number that didn’t insult Geralt by being too high or Yennefer by being too low. They went over everything one last time, signed the papers, and it was over.

The past almost seven years of his life signed away in less than an hour.

“I have some whiskey. I think getting  _ drunk _ is a bad idea, but a drink or two couldn’t hurt. And we could watch movies. Ones you like, I promise I won’t make you watch my musical movies again, but really, Geralt,  _ Begin Again _ is a classic, and who  _ doesn’t _ want to see Adam Levine as a bad guy?” Jaskier’s eyes spelled mischief, and while Geralt had fully intended on spending tonight alone aside from his daughter, he had to admit that Jaskier’s plan was likely better for his emotional well-being.

“I don’t even know who Adam Levine is, Jask,” Geralt said, rolling his eyes.

Jaskier correctly took this for an agreement, and pulled Geralt down to kiss his forehead before retreating into the kitchen. When he returned, he was carrying a bottle of whiskey and two glasses filled with ice. He set them down on the coffee table as Geralt took a seat on the couch and after the drinks were poured he handed it to Geralt. Jaskier held up his glass and looked at Geralt’s glass expectantly. Geralt snorted.

“Exactly what are we toasting?”

“Me, obviously,” Jaskier said, winking at him. Jaskier had winked at Geralt probably a hundred times in the nearly ten years they had known each other, and yet this time it sent a fire coursing through his body. “You shouldn’t take these moments for granted, you know. I’ll be famous soon. Might leave you behind.”

Geralt scoffed, but clinked their glasses together nonetheless. “Kind of hard to leave me behind if we own a house together. The paperwork alone will be a nightmare.”

“Ah, I’ll have  _ people _ for that. No more paperwork for me. I’m far too beautiful and talented to ruin my instrument-playing fingers in such ways.”

Geralt huffed a laugh and grabbed Jaskier’s arm, tugging him down onto the couch. Jaskier laughed, too, and halfheartedly shoved Geralt’s shoulder. But he didn’t scoot away, and had landed right beside Geralt, his knee pressed against Geralt’s thigh. If anything, Jaskier moved closer, as he pressed his back into the couch and his thigh into Geralt’s.

“I suppose it would be hard to forget the love of my life,” Jaskier said dreamily, and for a moment Geralt’s blood ran cold, until Jaskier continued, “Ciri would be devastated to lose me. And I, her.”

“You’re going to come back from tour and she won’t even remember who you are,” Geralt teased. He knew it wasn’t true, though. Jaskier was hard to forget, even for a baby.

Jaskier, however, gasped. “Geralt! We can’t let that happen. You have to promise to Facetime with me. At  _ least _ every few days. I know she already has the Dada and Mama thing down, we need to get her saying  _ Jaskier _ next. If she doesn’t remember my voice, how could she ever learn to say Jaskier?”

He sounded genuinely panicked, and Geralt’s grin slowly grew as Jaskier rambled. Ciri could never forget Jaskier, Geralt wouldn’t let her, but there was something very charming about how concerned Jaskier was over this.

Jaskier noticed Geralt’s grin, though, and pouted. “You’re mocking me in your head, aren’t you? Mocking my  _ pain _ .”

Geralt shook his head. “She won’t forget you, Jask. You won’t be gone that long. And, okay, we’ll  _ try _ the video chatting thing. But I highly doubt she’ll pay attention to it; she’s too little.”

“I’ll just have to rush back. Three weeks is  _ such _ a long time.”

Geralt had to agree.

They decided on a movie--some war documentary, which Geralt really only picked because he  _ knew _ Jaskier would complain loudly over it the entire time, and somehow, that was the memory he wanted to carry with him when Jaskier left for three weeks. He did complain loudly, through the whole thing, and instead of listening to the narrator, devised his own narrative to turn the documentary into a Casablanca-esque love story. Geralt disputed him at every turn, but Jaskier paid him no mind, except when Geralt dared use words such as “ridiculous” or “dramatic” and then he launched into a tirade about Geralt not understanding their love for each other.

They finished the glass of whiskey and then one more. Jaskier grew a bit more touchy with the drink and Geralt’s lips grew looser, though he wasn’t sure if that was from the whiskey or from Jaskier’s energy. They weren’t drunk when Jaskier cut them off, but Geralt had a pleasant-enough buzz to agree with Jaskier’s decision to be done.

The documentary ended, unnoticed, as their conversation drifted. Easy topics only. They didn’t discuss Geralt’s failed marriage or Jaskier’s impending tour. It hung heavy over them, but to bring it to light would break whatever levity had overtaken them.

Eventually, their conversation died on their tongues and made way for an easy silence. Geralt was all-too-aware of Jaskier’s knees, both of them now, pressed into his thigh as Jaskier sat contorted into some ridiculous sitting position beside him. Jaskier, a little freer, twirled a strand of Geralt’s hair, which Geralt pretended not to notice.

All he could notice was Jaskier, though. His cornflower blue eyes staring intently at the hair he twisted and untwisted. The soft pink of his cheeks, which Jaskier always insisted was because whiskey warmed him from the inside out. His lips, just barely open, and he swiped his tongue out to re-wet them and Geralt suddenly had to know what they tasted like.

Geralt surged forward, cupping Jaskier’s cheek and drawing him in close. Jaskier hadn’t been expecting it, and dropped Geralt’s hair in surprise, but once his brain caught up he was melting into the kiss. His hands returned to Geralt’s hair, this time using it as leverage to hold Geralt close as his fingers threaded through the locks.

Jaskier’s lips were soft, just as soft as Geralt had always imagined they were. He opened for Geralt so beautifully, allowing Geralt’s tongue to swipe inside, and Jaskier’s answering whine was so full of wanting that Geralt’s cock stirred to action. He hooked an arm around Jaskier’s waist and tugged him in, and Jaskier got the message perfectly. There was nothing graceful about the way Jaskier clambered into Geralt’s lap, but Geralt was pretty sure it was the most perfect feeling in the world anyway.

Geralt didn’t break the kiss as he stood up, his hands hooking underneath Jaskier’s thighs. Jaskier’s answer was a moan now, and he was obliging enough to wrap his legs around Geralt’s waist. Geralt could feel him now, could feel the way Jaskier was stiffening in those stupid skinny jeans, and Geralt wanted  _ more. _

They had lived in this apartment so long, Geralt was sure he could make his way to his bedroom without any effort. Unfortunately, Ciri’s items were new, and he very narrowly avoided tripping over her activity center, or her office, as Jaskier called it. Jaskier noticed, because of course he did, and huffed a laugh into Geralt’s mouth, which Geralt swallowed up hungrily. He kicked the bedroom door open, and lowered Jaskier onto the mattress slowly, climbing over him until Jaskier was stretched out beautifully beneath him.

Geralt was greedy in his wanderings. His mouth found Jaskier’s pulse point and nipped him, then he pressed his tongue against it to soothe. Jaskier was breathing hard now, and Geralt pressed a hand to the side of his ribs, feeling the way Jaskier’s chest expanded against it. 

Geralt was just moving his hand along Jaskier’s side, finding the hem of his shirt and sliding underneath it, when Jaskier’s hand splayed across Geralt’s chest, pushing him back. Geralt looked up, a question plain on his face, only to see Jaskier looking  _ wrecked _ . The startling part wasn’t the obvious wanting written across his face. The startling part was how  _ devastated _ he looked. Geralt sat back on his knees, between Jaskier’s legs, his hands pressed into the bed on either side of Jaskier’s hips.

“Geralt, you’re--you’re hurting. And I don’t--I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret tomorrow,” Jaskier said, and then cleared his throat. Geralt truly couldn’t tell if his voice was hoarse from desire or from upset.

“I won’t. I want this,” Geralt insisted, running his hand along Jaskier’s hip. “Do you?”

Jaskier closed his eyes. “Of course I do. More than anything,” he said.

Geralt smiled, his hand traveling back up to the hem of Jaskier’s shirt, only for Jaskier to seize his wrist, pinning it to Jaskier’s hip bone.

“I will not be your rebound, Geralt,” Jaskier said, and now his eyes were open, hardened. “You can’t use me as a distraction.”

Geralt shook his head. “I’m not using you as a distraction, Jask.”

Jaskier looked close to tears, but still his face wore that hardened expression. He removed Geralt’s hand from his hip and pushed himself up until he was sitting. His legs still bracketed Geralt’s, but with space between them. Geralt didn’t understand how they went from touching  _ everywhere _ , getting to  _ more, _ only to now not be touching at all.

“You know--you  _ have _ to know. After all this time, how could you not?” Jaskier said, and one look at Geralt’s confused face had him breathing a humorless, brittle laugh. “How can everyone know except you? Except the only one that matters?” Jaskier ran his fingers through his hair, and it hadn’t been neat before, but now it just looked disheveled. “Geralt, this won’t ever just be sex for me. I’ve been here too long and I won’t--I  _ won’t _ be second to Yennefer. I won’t let you hurt me like that. Not again.”

Geralt watched, dumbfounded, as Jaskier climbed out of bed and walked to the door. He tried to go with dignity, and Geralt tried to give that to him, but it was hard when he was climbing around Geralt’s body, in the dark, trying to accommodate for the stiffness in his pants.

“Jaskier, don’t--”

“It’s okay. We can just pretend it never happened, yeah? Just. Don’t make me breakfast this time, okay? I don’t think I’m going to have much of an appetite tomorrow.”

And with that, Geralt was alone again, and feeling far more hollow than he had before.

\--

Jaskier had been saying goodbye to Ciri for an hour.

Geralt was trying not to intrude, but it was hard not to overhear them in a tiny apartment. Jaskier made promises to her, all the songs he would sing in her honor, the things he would look out for so he could tell her about them later, what they would do when he returned. He also implored her to promise, over and over, that she wouldn’t forget him and that three weeks wasn’t  _ that _ long, not really, and  _ For the love of God, Ciri, I know it’s early but if this is when you decide to be a prodigy and walk, I will never, not ever, forgive you _ .

Part of Geralt wanted to join in on their moment. Not to take away from it, but just to be included in Jaskier’s lengthy goodbye. He had a feeling if he walked out there, though, the moment would be ruined, and Jaskier deserved a proper goodbye.

After an hour, enough  _ had _ to be enough. Ciri needed to sleep and Jaskier needed to get on the road or he’d miss his plane. Geralt hesitated a moment, then joined them in the living room.

“Jask, you’re going to be late,” he said, holding out his hands for Ciri.

Ciri grinned and reached for him and Jaskier, reluctantly, with a kiss to her cheek, handed her over. He looked small, for a moment, and so, so nervous. Geralt wasn’t used to seeing Jaskier like that.

Then he leaned forward and wrapped Geralt--and Ciri--in a hug, and something unfurled in Geralt’s chest. They hadn’t talked about the other night, as Jaskier had said. But they would be okay. Eventually.

“We’ll miss you,” Geralt murmured as Jaskier pulled away.  _ I already miss you,  _ Geralt thought.

Jaskier's smile was sad as he touched Geralt’s cheek, just for a moment. Then he was pulling away  _ far _ too quickly and turning to his bags as he cleared his throat. Geralt could see him blinking rapidly.

“I’ll be back before you know it. With so many stories for both of you. Goodbye. Ciri, I love you!” Jaskier hesitated, his door on the handle, and the look he gave Geralt was meaningful, but Geralt couldn’t begin to parse out exactly  _ what _ it was trying to say.

And then he was gone.

\--

Geralt was not excited to leave Ciri with Yennefer.

Truly, he never was. Though the free time was nice, he missed her desperately within a couple hours of dropping her off with Yen. This time, however, he was actually  _ nervous _ about what it would be like without Cirilla there to make some noise to break the silence.

Without Jaskier, things had been so quiet. Geralt was better now at talking, after he had read articles and been pressed by his friends and family that if he had a baby he would actually have to  _ talk _ to the baby. They were right, of course. So Geralt had gotten better. Now, it was natural to narrate everything he was doing, start one-sided conversations with Ciri, and think out loud, just so she was exposed to as much language as possible. No one was ever going to claim that Geralt was the reason for her having delayed language skills.

He still wasn’t as good at it as Jaskier was, though. Jaskier was a professional at holding the one-sided conversations. Half the time, Geralt was convinced that Ciri  _ had _ responded in some way, with how Jaskier carried on. It was easier, too, to feel a bit less like he was going crazy when there was another adult to talk to, and to share the burden of saying everything that came to mind just to expose her to as many words as possible. The silent stretches were longer, and they felt uncomfortable, when Geralt had once thought that all he wanted was complete and total silence.

He had taken to playing Jaskier’s music on his computer. He maintained that his reason was so Ciri wouldn’t forget Jaskier's voice, but really it was because Geralt wanted to hear him. Not that Geralt would admit that to anyone.

Without Ciri there, Geralt was going to be left alone with his thoughts. This didn’t used to be such a terrifying prospect. Things had changed. He wasn’t ready to deal with the fact that things had changed.

So when he knocked on Yennefer’s door, he was apprehensive at best. Cirilla was happily babbling away in her car seat and Geralt tried very hard not to dwell on the fact that for the next three days he wouldn’t hear that, or the fact that he’d have to go back to the empty, silent apartment. He was fine. Geralt loved silence. He just needed to relearn that.

Yennefer opened the door and motioned Geralt in, with an eye roll Geralt was pretty sure was aimed at whoever was on the phone pressed to her ear.

“Yes, yes, I agree. Perfect. I have to go now, Geralt’s here,” Yen said into the phone as she closed the door. Geralt knelt down to unbuckle Ciri. “Sabrina, I’m sure it’s fine. We can talk more tonight, okay? Yes, perfect, thank you. Goodbye, Sabrina.”

Yennefer sighed, and rolled her eyes again, but when she turned to Ciri she was nothing but smiles. “ _ There’s _ my perfect girl,” she said, holding out her arms. Geralt passed her over and Yennefer wrapped Ciri up in a hug. “What do you think we can teach you in three days so Jaskier has a conniption when he next sees you?”

“Any other words, probably. He accepted ‘Dada’ and ‘Mama’, but I think he may cry if she says anything else before ‘Jask’,” Geralt answered.

Yennefer’s grin was just short of evil as she pressed a kiss to Ciri’s cheek, leaving behind a faint trace of lipstick. “And how’s Daddy doing without his musician?” Yennefer teased. Geralt opened his mouth to reply, but Yennefer continued, “Ah, I thought so, Ciri. Miserable you say? No idea what to do without him?”

Geralt set his jaw and crossed his arms. “Can we not do this? Just once at drop off can I not be the subject of your mockery?”

Yennefer smiled at him and patted his cheek. “Just trying to get you to open up to me, babe,” she said. She turned toward the loft and strode further in. “Coffee?”

Geralt sighed, but followed after Yennefer. He took a seat at her counter and Yennefer plopped Ciri down onto the counter top and slid her over to him. He kept a hand on her leg as she tried to wiggle away. She had recently discovered her love for and ability to crawl, and while Geralt was glad she was developing new skills, he was afraid for the day she became proficient at it and he actually had to baby-proof.

“So, are you going to talk to me or not?” Yennefer asked, once she had the mugs of coffee prepared. She put one in his hand, not willing to risk Ciri’s curious reach knocking it over.

“Is this what we do now? Have heart to hearts about our independent love lives?” Geralt rolled his eyes and sipped his coffee, twisting his body to keep it far away from Cirilla’s reaching arms. She let out a squawk of indignation, which Geralt responded to with a raised eyebrow and, “I didn’t ask  _ your _ opinion, Cirilla.”

“So you admit Jaskier is a love life item?”

Geralt groaned. He slid Ciri across the counter to Yennefer, who wrapped an arm around her body and hid her mug behind her back. “That is not what I said.”

“I’m really not trying to trick you, Geralt, or walk you into admitting anything you don’t want to admit. Though I would be  _ delighted _ if you did. I only want to hear how you’re doing. You’ve had Jaskier present throughout all of this; Ciri, the divorce, everything. And now he’s been gone almost a week immediately after we finalized this.” She stuck out her tongue at Ciri, who was already growing antsy and restless. The baby was too curious for her own good, and now that she knew she could move herself, she never wanted to sit still. Geralt couldn’t blame her, but he was concerned for what this meant for the future. “No one is going to judge you if you’re out of sorts.”

“Fine, I’m out of sorts,” Geralt conceded, sighing. He rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s so fucking  _ quiet _ , Yen.”

“You used to like that,” she reminded, a knowing smile on her lips.

“I’m not used to it anymore. And we didn’t leave things on a good note before he left.”

At this, Yennefer didn’t even bother to hide her surprise. She sat up from Ciri and stared at him, her eyebrows high. “No?”

“No.” Geralt paused, buying time by drinking his coffee. Could he talk to Yen about this? This was uncharted territory, and Geralt truly didn’t know where the boundaries were. But Yen had started the conversation with her teasing and prodding, so Geralt supposed this wasn’t a completely unbroachable topic. “I kissed him. That night, after court. We almost slept together. He told me to stop. That he wouldn’t be a rebound.” Geralt shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, though he knew Yennefer, of all people, could see through that.

“Oh.” Yen sounded… odd. Her eyes were wide and she stood up, leaving the mug behind on the counter and gathering Ciri in her arms. She placed Ciri in her activity center, then turned back to Geralt. “I didn’t expect this to feel so weird. Hearing you talk about this with someone else--”

“Fuck, Yen, I’m sorry--”

“No, no, it’s fine. I  _ want _ us to be comfortable with each other. And this had to happen eventually. It’s only… different. It will take some getting used to.” She took a deep breath, then found her seat on the stool again, turning it around so she could watch Ciri, who was playing away. “Did you talk?”

“He didn’t want to. He said we could pretend it never happened.”

“And how’d that make you feel?”

“Please don’t play my therapist.”

Yen laughed a little and shrugged. “It’s not often I get to be in this role. Women aren’t all born knowing how to provide emotional labor. Triss would probably be better suited.”

Geralt had to agree, but talking to Triss was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. He had a feeling her brand of help would be a bit too much.

“Yen, Jaskier said something. He said I had to know, that everyone knew something except me.” Yennefer frowned and hid behind her coffee mug, turning her face away from Geralt, too, for good measure. “You know what he’s talking about, don’t you?”

Yennefer was silent for a long time. “I will not betray Jaskier’s secrets, Geralt. I think, if you thought about it, you’d realize exactly what he was saying. Jaskier talks a lot, but he  _ says _ even more, if you just listen to him.”

Geralt’s eyebrows hitched together in confusion. “What the hell does that even mean?” he asked.

Yennefer rolled her eyes and let out a loud sigh, as if dealing with Geralt was the greatest inconvenience of her life. “It  _ means _ , use your head and listen to what he’s actually saying, Geralt. What he’s been saying, I suspect, the entire time you’ve known each other.”

Geralt still didn’t know what the hell that meant, but he would try. If for no other reason than he was a bit afraid to ask Yen for clarification again.

\--

Jaskier was of the firm belief that anything could be settled by just taking a new perspective on it. Usually, he didn’t mean it quite so literally, but he was  _ convinced _ that sitting on Geralt and Yennefer’s couch upside down was helping him think better. Maybe it was slightly less effective with the baby book still held in the same direction as his head, but Jaskier was convinced it still counted.

Triss thought it was hilarious, while Geralt and Yennefer were resolutely ignoring him. He had thrown out several good names, he was certain, but they didn’t seem to be interested in any of his suggestions so long as he remained with his feet high in the air and his head inches from the ground. Sometimes Jaskier was convinced they had never had a childhood.

“What if you chose a family name for her?” Triss suggested.

Yennefer and Geralt both made a face, and Jaskier snorted. It was times like these when Jaskier was convinced they were the same person. How else would they have both managed to have the perfect wince-grimace compound?

“I’d rather not honor my blood,” Yennefer answered.

“I don’t even know my birth family. And Eskel, Lambert, and I were a bit too old when we came to Vesemir to be attached to his family,” Geralt added.

“Alright, no family names, got it,” Triss said, scrolling through her phone. “Are there any you  _ have _ liked so far?”

“I still think Fiona is a nice name,” Geralt said.

Yennefer sighed. “I told you we could use it as a middle name. But I am not risking anyone deciding they can call my daughter  _ Fifi _ . She’s not a dog.”

“Didn’t you tell Pavetta you’d give her Riannon as a middle name?” Jaskier asked.

Yennefer nodded. Oh, so apparently she wasn’t ignoring Jaskier anymore. Only when it was convenient. “She can have two middle names. Or, three? Didn’t Vesemir ask you to include Elen?”

“This is going to be the most named baby in the world. You don’t want any of those as her first name?” Triss asked.

“Yes. Three middle names. Fiona Elen Riannon. No more middle names. Now we need to pick a first name,” Geralt said.

It was quiet for a long time, everyone searching through their respective book or scrolling through their phone. This hadn’t intentionally been a baby name brainstorming session, but when the topic of the new baby came up, and Triss and Jaskier realized that she would be born  _ soon _ and still they had no  _ name _ they had insisted there was at least a shortlist in place. Yennefer had insisted they could decide on it when they saw her, but Jaskier saw the relieved look in Geralt’s eye. That was all the motivation Jaskier needed to push forward and demand they had at least an idea of what they would name her.

“What about--”

“I refuse to listen to any suggestions you have until you are sitting like a proper human being,” Yennefer interrupted.

Jaskier sighed and awkwardly, with about as much grace as a newborn horse, righted himself on the couch. He held his arms to the side as if presenting himself and Yennefer nodded at him once before going back to her phone.

“Maybe Calanthe? Freya? Francesca?” Triss suggested.

Yennefer and Geralt both shook their heads. They continued to shake their heads at just about every suggestion made, even the ones they themselves threw out. Jaskier couldn’t blame them. None of the names sounded right. Jaskier didn’t know how long they all sat there, throwing out different names, some serious, some just plain ridiculous. Yennefer was getting fed up with Jaskier’s flower suggestions, though Jaskier maintained that they sounded quite nice.

They were just about to give up and try again another day when Jaskier suggested, “What about Cirilla?”

Everyone stopped what they were doing. Yennefer and Geralt looked up from their referents, cautiously hopeful looks on their faces. Jaskier was pretty sure they would be able to hear a  _ neighbor _ drop a pin, with how silent it was in the condo.

“Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon,” Yennefer said, as if she was trying the name out.

Geralt nodded. “It’s perfect.”

Jaskier felt warm for the next _week_. And then again when he got to meet little Cirilla, three weeks early. Thank god they picked a name.

\--

“Geralt, I can’t even see Ciri!” Jaskier complained.

Geralt rolled his eyes at Jaskier’s indignant look and turned the phone to face Ciri more fully. Ciri, however, had seemed to reach her fill of confusion at the tiny picture of Jaskier. When they had first started, both Geralt and Jaskier had delighted at how she looked around curiously when she heard Jaskier’s voice, but now the novelty had worn off, and Jaskier wasn’t  _ there _ and able to  _ touch _ . Aside from some renewed curiosity here and there, Ciri hadn’t really given Jaskier much to work with, which Geralt had warned him would happen.

“Jask, she wants to go play, not sit here and look at my phone which she isn’t even allowed to eat.”

“Alright, alright, fine. Let her be the free spirit she is. I’ll just be here, mourning the fact that we’ve only barely cleared a week and she’s already forgotten me. No point in returning; Ciri has moved on with her life.”

“You’re feeling dramatic today.” Geralt rolled his eyes and plopped Ciri on the floor. She wasted no time in launching herself forward to crawl to the remotes, rather than her toys,  _ of course _ . Geralt was so glad he had spent money on those.

“When am I not feeling dramatic?” Jaskier asked, and that was a fair question.

Geralt turned his attention back to Jaskier. The lighting was bad, he could barely see Jaskier’s face, so no wonder he hadn’t held Ciri’s attention. He must be in the cramped tour bus Jaskier had spent so much time complaining about.

“How’s tour going?”

The lighting wasn’t so bad that Geralt missed Jaskier grimace, but it was gone so quickly that Geralt was half-convinced he had imagined it. “It’s great. I’ve had such great audiences, and I’ve even made a lot of EP sales. Several people have asked to take pictures of me  _ and _ asked for my autograph. I’m feeling like a big deal. I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”

“Sure you won’t,” Geralt replied, his skepticism clear in his voice. “How’s Valdo? Have you had a chance to spend any time with him?”

There was that grimace again. There, and then gone in a flash. This time, Geralt knew he didn’t imagine it. Jaskier was smiling again, though, so what the hell did that mean? “We’ve spent a lot of time together. He’s very… interested in my music.” Jaskier rubbed the back of his neck. “In fact, I should probably go soon. Valdo invited me to join them for lunch and some sight-seeing.”

“Right. Well. Before you go. We got the house.”

Jaskier’s grin became real in an instant. “Really? They accepted the updated offer?” Jaskier asked, sounding almost incredulous. “That’s great, Geralt! When can we move in?”

“I’m going to start next week. Don’t worry, I won’t pack up your things, I’ll let you do that. Can I move your bed and other furniture, though?”

“Only if you promise not to harm my poor, precious instruments. Move them with  _ two _ hands, Geralt. Gentle touches only!”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Ah, so I guess I shouldn’t tell you that Ciri pressed avocado into your lute, huh?”

“She  _ what _ ?” Jaskier’s voice hopped a few octaves. Any higher, and Geralt was pretty sure only dogs would be able to hear him.

“I’m kidding, Jask. Your lute is safely shut away where you left it. I will not harm your instruments. I value my life too much.”

Jaskier pressed a hand to his chest, making a show of regulating his breathing, though even in his dramatic charade he couldn’t quite contain his growing grin. “Okay. I trust you. You can move the furniture items, but  _ that’s it _ . Do not touch my books, especially not the notebooks. I’ll box everything up as soon as I get back. God, Geralt, I’m so thrilled. We got the house!”

Geralt’s smile was slow and easy. “Yeah, Jask. We did.”

They sat there for a moment, just grinning at each other, before Jaskier seemed to remember himself.

“Give Ciri lots of hugs and kisses for me. Tell her I miss her  _ at least _ five times a day, if not more. She can never be told too much. And, Geralt?”

“Yes?”

“I miss you, too. Desperately, darling.” And with a small smile, Jaskier ended the call.

\--

That next week, Geralt was so wrapped up in moving and settling Ciri’s things into the house, that he almost forgot to be lonely. Yennefer took Ciri for the entire week, and while Geralt missed her, he was glad not to have to worry about a baby while he set up her room. For now, it was only functionally set up. Jaskier absolutely insisted he be part of the nursery decorating, and that was a task Geralt was perfectly happy to leave to Jaskier. Artistic had never been a word used to describe Geralt.

Lamber and Eskel helped him move the furniture with only mild grumbling and teasing, and once everything--aside from Jaskier’s boxes--was inside the house, they helped christen the home with a beer and poker night. Geralt lost, hopelessly, but only because Lambert and Eskel had cheated. Truly. They admitted to it once Geralt had turned over the money.

Geralt was so content that when Triss asked him out for a drink, Geralt didn’t even hesitate to say yes. Ciri was still with Yennefer for the remainder of the weekend, though Geralt would see her that Sunday to drop off Yennefer’s Mother’s Day gift. The idea of being alone in an even  _ bigger _ space than his and Jaskier’s apartment was daunting, so accepting Triss’s invitation was an easy decision.

So they found themselves at Posadas. It felt weird, being there on a Friday without Jaskier playing. The other patrons seemed to feel the same way. Someone else was there, but he wasn’t nearly as good as Jaskier, and judging by the loud conversation all around Geralt, the rest of the crowd felt the same way. He appreciated their loyalty.

He and Triss were in the middle of catching up, though, when the performer  _ abruptly _ stopped. Geralt didn’t much care for him, so he didn’t care to look to see what had happened. Maybe the idiot had forgotten the words, or something.

“Well, Posadas, I hope you’ve missed me!”

Geralt’s heart stopped. Triss’s eyes went wide and they both snapped their attention to the makeshift stage quickly enough that Geralt was pretty sure he pulled something in his neck.

There was Jaskier, in all his colorful glory, looking a little disheveled, but beaming nonetheless. His guitar was in hand and when his eyes met Geralt’s, he looked a little surprised (which, how in the world could  _ Jaskier _ be surprised, when he was supposed to be out of state for another week?) and a lot sheepish, but he continued on.

“My tour ended a little early, and I rushed back to see all your bright, shining faces. There’s just something about home, isn’t there?” The crowd, broken out of their daze, cheered back at him. “Mind if I play you a few songs? Then I promise I’ll give Mr., uh. What was your name again? Oh, he’s left. Well, I’ll give your other performer a chance again after a little taste.”

“What is he doing here?” Triss asked as Jaskier began to play.

Geralt just shook his head helplessly. They couldn’t continue conversation; they only watched Jaskier in a bewildered silence as he played. At the start, Jaskier seemed tense, stressed, almost. But as he got further into his overall short set, he relaxed a little. Geralt could tell he was thrilled to be there, but even Jaskier looked a bit like he wasn’t expecting to be.

By the time Jaskier stopped playing, Geralt was about ready to burst out of his chair. Thankfully, Jaskier made a beeline for them, giving apologetic waves and shoulder-touches to those he passed on his way to Triss and Geralt.

“Welcome back?” Triss said, her eyes still wide. “What in the world are you doing here, Jaskier?”

“I told you,” Jaskier said, rubbing the back of his neck and ducking his head. “Tour ended early. I thought if I made it back in time I could play here for a little while. And, well. I didn’t really know where… I just figured it was best if I started here.” He glanced back up at Geralt, heedless of the blush spreading across his face.

“Do you want to go see the house?” Geralt asked, understanding. Jaskier didn’t know where to go to find him. 

“No, you guys are having a night out. It’s fine. I just didn’t really think through coming home at night right in the middle of moving,” Jaskier said, though he sounded far less sure than his words would imply.

Geralt and Triss exchanged a look, and then Geralt stood up, dropping some cash on the table for his drink. “Rain check tomorrow?” he asked, and Triss nodded. Geralt turned to Jaskier, whose eyes had widened and he opened his mouth to speak. “We’re going home.”

Jaskier tried again to speak, but Geralt took Jaskier’s suitcase from him, pressed a hand to the small of his back, and led him out of the bar. Geralt led them to his car, and didn’t speak until they were on the road.

“What happened?” Geralt asked, his voice soft and cutting through the silence.

Geralt caught Jaskier’s pained smile from the corner of his eye. “It’s nothing, Geralt. Valdo and I just… disagreed on something. And he told me to get lost. Apparently, because I was paid upfront, he had fulfilled the terms of my contract, and could fire me at any point. I think a lawyer could find some disputes with that, but I wanted to leave. So. I did.” He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal, but the way his shoulders went slack afterward told Geralt it mattered.

Geralt reached a hand across the console and squeezed Jaskier’s knee. He let the hand rest there a moment, before he was pulling it back to use his blinker.

“I’m glad you’re back.”

Jaskier breathed audibly, and Geralt was happy to find that though it started off shaky, the breath ended steadily. Two weeks felt like a long time to go without Jaskier. Though he wanted to press, to know what, exactly, they had disagreed on, Jaskier clearly didn’t want to talk about it. Geralt wanted to kill Valdo either way, so the details didn’t particularly matter, he supposed.

“I’m glad to be back.”

Jaskier didn’t ask for a tour when they came to the house, and Geralt didn’t offer. He just led them upstairs, bypassing Jaskier’s room entirely--it didn’t feel like his room, not with only a bed and a mostly-empty dresser inside--and took them to Geralt’s room. Jaskier’s steps faltered, but he didn’t say anything. At least, not until he reached the threshold, where he planted his feet.

“Geralt, I--”

“Do you really want to be alone tonight?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. Geralt hummed, then grabbed a pair of sleep pants from his own dresser. He nudged Jaskier into the room and headed to the bathroom to change. Jaskier, apparently, understood what Geralt was trying to do, because by the time Geralt returned to the room, he had changed as well, and was perched on the bed. He looked unsure, there in a baggy shirt and a pair of shorts.

Geralt, despite his pounding heart, pretended nothing was amiss as he climbed onto the other side of the bed and ducked under the covers. Jaskier hesitated, then followed suit, and soon they were facing each other in the darkness.

“I don’t--” this time, Jaskier cut himself off. 

His eyebrows furrowed, and Geralt wanted so desperately to ask what he was thinking, but he was pretty sure Jaskier wouldn’t tell him anyway. So he just waited. And was rewarded with Jaskier slowly pressing closer until his forearms were touching Geralt’s bare chest.

Geralt wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s waist, his hand cupping around Jaskier’s other side, and pulled him closer. Jaskier let out a shuddering breath and his forehead pressed into Geralt’s shoulder.

“It wasn’t the same around here without you,” Geralt whispered, feeling brave in the darkness. Jaskier was quiet, and for a moment, Geralt wondered if Jaskier even heard him, until he draped his own arm over Geralt’s side and across his back.

Everything felt like it was as it should be, as they laid there together. It didn’t take Geralt long at all to fall asleep with Jaskier in his arms.

\--

Geralt had barely got a greeting out to Yennefer before Ciri was thrust into his arms and Yennefer was barreling past him into the house.

He was startled, of course, but just followed after Yen until she found Jaskier, who had now stood up slowly, his face betraying his caution and confusion. Geralt was pretty sure Jaskier hadn’t done anything recently to piss her off.

The last thing he expected Yennefer to do was to wrap Jaskier in a crushing hug. Judging by Jaskier’s bewildered expression as he slowly wrapped his arms around Yen, he was just as caught off guard by this as Geralt was.

“You know, I am never one to turn down physical affection, but you are not often one to give it to those taller than two feet?” Jaskier said as the hug continued long past what Geralt would have been able to stand.

Yennefer pulled away and pressed a hand against his cheek. “Thank you for my Mother’s Day gift,” she said. She patted his cheek and then took a step back.

“Damn, Yen. If I knew this was the reaction I’d get, I’d get you gifts all the time.” He honestly looked a little bashful, and, God, that was a good look on him. His cheeks were just a bit pink and he bit his lower lip through his crooked smile.

Geralt was distracted a moment later, though, as Jaskier finally turned to face him, and the look of delight was even  _ better _ than his bashful smile. Jaskier’s joy at seeing Ciri took over his whole face, and he bounded to Ciri with his arms wide. Ciri looked  _ amazed _ . Her eyes, already so big, seemed as if they took over her entire face, and her mouth fell open. As soon as Jaskier was about a foot away she  _ dived _ for him, and Jaskier only just barely caught her and scooped her up until his arms in as tight a hug as he could manage without hurting her.

“Look how big you’ve gotten, sweetheart!” Jaskier cooed, and Yennefer and Geralt exchanged eye-rolls.

“You’ve been gone two weeks, Jask.”

“Did I stutter, Geralt? She’s definitely bigger. More mature. Got a worldly look about her.” He blew a raspberry on her cheek and Ciri giggled, then blew one right back at him. Before long, they were locked in a back and forth and Geralt decided to step away, lest he be in the splash zone.

“What’d he get you?” he asked Yennefer. His gift to Yen had been a bouquet of flowers, a card, and a spa gift card. Clearly, Jaskier had outdone himself.

“You didn’t see it? He made a cast of Ciri’s handprints,” Yennefer answered. “Put it in a frame and everything. Wrote ‘How much I love Mommy’ on it. I would have cried, if I had a heart left.” She winked at Geralt, and Geralt smiled back. 

He was pretty sure she had cried, but he would let her think he was fooled.

\--

Jaskier was pretty sure he had never been more nervous in his life. It was silly, of course. Who in the world would be nervous about meeting a  _ newborn _ ?

He didn’t have to worry about making a good first impression. He didn’t have to get on her good side. All he had to do was not hurt her or sneeze on her or anything like that, and he was in the clear. He brought flowers, anyway.

The hospital had been kind enough to let Geralt and Yennefer use a room to do a greeting, despite the fact that no adult needed the room. Pavetta and Duny had already said their goodbyes. They would have a chance to change their minds before the adoption was set in stone, but unlike Geralt and Yennefer, Jaskier had no fear of that happening. Cirilla was theirs, now. And Jaskier was going to meet her. They were going to be best friends, he was sure of it.

When Jaskier walked in with the bouquet, Yennefer rolled her eyes. “A bit much, don’t you think?”

Jaskier feigned insult. “I think we should let  _ Cirilla _ decide, considering they’re for her,” he said.

And there, there she was. She looked impossibly tiny, and Jaskier wasn’t sure if that was because she actually was, or because Geralt, the biggest guy in the room, was holding her. Jaskier felt like he was in a dream as he stepped up to her.

“Well, hello, little dove,” Jaskier said as Geralt angled her out for Jaskier to see.

“Isn’t she perfect?” Yennefer asked, and Jaskier had to agree.

Cirilla was impossibly tiny. She had a bundle of fine, almost white hair that Jaskier desperately hoped she wouldn’t lose. He had just met her and he was pretty sure he would do anything for this tiny bundle in Geralt’s arms. Jaskier already loved her too much to bear.

“Do you want to hold her?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier was surprised he even offered. The way Geralt had been holding her and looking down at Cirilla when he walked in implied to Jaskier that he would never want to give her up, much less offer her to someone else.

“Of course I do.” 

Jaskier placed the flowers on a table and held out his arms for her and Geralt transferred her over carefully. Jaskier couldn’t keep his eyes off her perfect little face as she continued on sleeping. His fingertips drifted lightly over her cheek, then to her hair, which was just as soft as he thought it would be.

“So, how does it feel, Mom and Dad?” Jaskier asked, finally tearing his eyes away from Cirilla’s face.

Yennefer let out a breath and shook her head slowly, at a loss for words. Geralt ran his fingers through his hair and looked so fearful, Jaskier was almost convinced he had been replaced with someone else. Geralt never looked afraid.

“Big,” Geralt finally answered, and Jaskier nodded. Big was a good word for it.

He peered back down at Cirilla. “Miss Cirilla, it is so nice to meet you. I’m Jaskier. And you are going to be  _ so _ loved.”

\--

The thing about drunk Jaskier was that there was no way not to notice him.

So when Jaskier stumbled his way through the front door, Geralt knew immediately. He didn’t even have to see the dopey smile Jaskier fixed him with; the way he couldn’t even walk down the short hallway without making noise was tell-tale enough. He was humming a song, not quite loud enough for Geralt to recognize it, and his gait was off--honestly, it was so off that it was a wonder he managed to get one foot in front of the other. Jaskier was wobbly.

Geralt got to his feet before he was fully aware of it, but crossing the room to Jaskier seemed to be a good call, because almost as soon as Geralt reached his side, Jaskier stumbled. Instead of falling into the kitchen table--they had finally replaced that ugly, falling-apart card table--he fell into Geralt. Jaskier stumbled his way back up, smiling up at Jaskier.

“Sooorry. Guess I had a bit too much,” he said, his smile only getting wider and toothier. 

Jaskier turned to face Geralt and stumbled forward again, though Geralt wasn’t sure how much of the action was an accident. Jaskier grabbed fist-fulls of Geralt’s hoodie right at his shoulders. Their chests pressed together and Geralt could feel Jaskier’s chest expand and contract as he breathed, and Geralt was thrown back to that night, a month earlier now, when he pressed his hand against Jaskier’s ribs and felt them move beneath his fingers.

“Who were you out with?” Geralt asked, slipping a hand around Jaskier’s waist and tugging him to Geralt’s side. He started leading them to the stairs.

“Hmm. Triss at first. She’s fun. But she had to leave ‘cause she has a shift at the hospital tomorrow. Then I was by myself. That was fun for a while. Stopped being fun, though.”

Jaskier allowed himself to be led up the stairs, and Geralt was happy for it. Some nights after drinking, he was a terror. Usually those were the nights when Geralt didn’t let Jaskier go home with someone, for whatever reason. He tried not to interfere often, but the people Jaskier gravitated toward when he was too drunk to articulate his own name were not the sort Geralt could, in good conscience, let his best friend go home with.

Other nights, he was like this. Pleasant and pliant and all whispers and soft touches against Geralt. Geralt had never considered himself a soft thing, but Jaskier like this made him want to wrap them both up in a blanket, hold Jaskier’s head to his chest, and count Jaskier’s breaths until he fell asleep.

He never did that, of course. They were only ever friends. And after Yen, Jaskier was like this around Geralt less and less. After Yen, Jaskier hardly let himself be drunk around Geralt. He had never allowed himself to wonder at the reason; some part of him knew he wasn’t ready for that particular truth.

Jaskier plopped himself on his bed with only slight prodding from Geralt. Geralt pushed off his open button-up, trying not to roll his eyes at how  _ ridiculously _ brightly patterned it was. He barked out a quick “Up” and Jaskier obediently lifted his arms so Geralt could remove his low, low cut tank top. Geralt dropped the shirts in Jaskier’s hamper--making them the only clothes in there, as the rest were strewn about the floor--and tossed a sleep shirt at Jaskier. The drunk fool let out a halfhearted groan, but he pulled the shirt over his head. Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s shorts and came back to Jaskier.

He didn’t hesitate in unbuttoning Jaskier’s pants and tugging them down his legs. At least, not until Jaskier let out a soft breath, and then Geralt’s brain caught up to what he was doing. Geralt’s hands froze, still curled around the hem of Jaskier’s pants, his knuckles pressed into Jaskier’s thighs, and Geralt looked up. 

Jaskier stared down at him, his mouth open and his lips wet, as if he had just licked them. He realized Geralt had noticed this, though, and leaned back on his hands behind him, turning his face to the ceiling.

“Usually when guys remove my pants, the context is sexier,” Jaskier said as Geralt went back to his task. His voice was low, wanting. Geralt tugged Jaskier’s jeans down past his legs, then stripped him completely of his shoes and jeans.

“I hope you’re at least slightly more sober when that happens,” Geralt answered, pulling the shorts up. And if he went a little slower, allowed himself to feel the curves and dips of Jaskier’s legs, well. That couldn’t be proven.

“They usually don’t redress me, either,” Jaskier continued, as if Geralt hadn’t spoken.

“Well, they have different motives.” He tapped Jaskier’s hip and Jaskier lifted himself up. Geralt finished dressing him. He resolutely did not touch the swell of Jaskier’s ass, no matter how much he wanted to. Jaskier’s hips were quite far enough, and Geralt allowed himself to brush his fingers along the sharp jut of Jaskier’s bones.

“And what are your motives?”

Geralt looked up to find Jaskier staring down at him again. A shiver ran through Geralt as he realized Jaskier’s eyes looked almost… hopeful.

“To get you ready for bed,” he answered. His heart clenched at how disappointed Jaskier looked.

“Geralt--”

“I know, Jask.” That wasn’t what he was asking. Geralt couldn’t answer the question Jaskier was asking. Not now, while Jaskier’s cheeks were flushed from the alcohol and he still smelled vaguely of someone else’s perfume. Maybe not ever. It was a hard thing to put words to.

“I just want to take care of you as good as you take care of me,” Geralt finally settled on. 

His hands rested on Jaskier’s outer thighs and Geralt’s knees sank to the floor to keep him more stable as he kneeled between Jaskier’s legs. Geralt watched Jaskier’s face fade into a soft, fond smile. Jaskier reached out a hand and thumbed along Geralt’s temple, his cheekbone, his jaw, his lower lip. Geralt allowed Jaskier this, and closed his eyes, suddenly feeling too vulnerable here before Jaskier. And maybe he wanted to save Jaskier some of his vulnerability, too.

“I want to keep you,” Jaskier breathed, almost too quiet to hear.

Jaskier’s hand pulled away and Geralt opened his eyes, only to see Jaskier looking away, toward his headboard. Jaskier swallowed hard, and though it was dark, Geralt was sure the rim of Jaskier’s eyes looked redder than they had moments before. Geralt stood up, lightly pressing against Jaskier’s shoulder to lead him into the mattress. Jaskier went willingly, and curled up under the covers that haphazardly covered the mattress.

Geralt turned to go, but Jaskier’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

“Stay. Please?” Jaskier asked.

He should have said no. The night Jaskier came back had been almost too much. The next day they hadn’t known what to say to each other, and he had only taken Jaskier to his bed because he thought Jaskier didn’t want to be alone. And, selfishly, Geralt didn’t want to be alone, either. If he was smart, he would cut this off before it became a pattern. Geralt wasn’t smart, though, and he found himself nodding.

“I have to get the monitor,” he said, and Jaskier nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

Geralt stepped outside. He moved methodically, locking up the house and turning off the lights. In his bedroom, he shucked off his shirt and pants and pulled on his sweats, for once letting the clothes fall to the floor in the interest of time, rather than dropping them dutifully in his hamper. Once he had the baby monitor in hand he turned back to Jaskier’s room, only to stop at Jaskier’s door with his forehead pressed against the wood.

What was he  _ doing _ ?

But Jaskier was waiting for him. And Geralt wasn’t about to disappoint him--or himself--so, despite the warning bells going off in his head, Geralt pushed open the door, crawled into Jaskier’s bed, and pulled Jaskier’s back flush against his chest.

\--

Geralt woke to a baby crying through the monitor, and Jaskier wrapped around him. Jaskier had a tendency to octopus around him, Geralt had noticed, with his limbs splayed out and hooked around Geralt’s. This time, though, Jaskier had also managed to grab a fistful of Geralt’s hair, which Geralt carefully set about extracting himself from.

If their lives were different, they could have woken up together, and confronted this head on. Whatever this was. Cirilla would not be ignored, though, and Geralt didn’t want her cries to wake Jaskier. He tried to pretend his haste was motivated by fatherly duty, rather than fear.

Jaskier didn’t come downstairs until after Ciri had been fed, changed, and dressed. Now she was playing happily on the floor and Geralt was spread out in front of her, chatting with the baby as she crawled her way around the living room, trying her best to find mischief to get into. Geralt looked up as Jaskier entered the room, and tried  _ hard _ not to notice how endearing Jaskier’s bedhead was. He failed. 

“How’s your head?” Geralt asked, looking back at Ciri and grinning as she found the remote and  _ immediately _ attempted to fit the entire thing in her mouth.

“I don’t even want to talk about it,” Jaskier groaned, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Geralt had made himself a pot earlier, only to replace it after he and Ciri came back down so it would be fresh for Jaskier. “I am not as young as I once was.”

Geralt snorted. “You haven’t even hit thirty yet, Jaskier. Don’t insult me like that.”

“Four months, Geralt! Only four months and I am officially out of my twenties! I am inches from the grave.” He took a sip of coffee and the sound he made was borderline filthy. It was not going to be that kind of morning. It couldn’t be.

“I take it you’re not up for babysitting today, then?”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes, peering over the top of his mug so he could glower at Geralt. “Why? Where will you be?”

“Is that a no, then?”

“You know I can always make an exception for our darling Cirilla. But. Please, Geralt. I am a weak, hurting man. Take pity on me. Didn’t I mention I was inches from the grave?”

Geralt smirked. “I suppose I won’t ask anything of you today, then. Since you are a weak, hurting man, and all.”

Jaskier’s answering smile was infectious.

Jaskier spent most of the day on the couch. When Geralt sat beside him, Jaskier pressed a foot, a calf, an arm against him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Periodically he whined about how badly he was feeling, but no matter how much Geralt insisted he go sleep it off, Jaskier refused to leave Geralt.

They were headed somewhere. Geralt just wasn’t sure where. Not yet.

\--

Jaskier loved the way Ciri looked in Geralt’s arms. 

Jaskier loved the way Geralt held Ciri up like he was investigating her whenever she was alert and staring at him. He would prop her up against his thighs, his feet anchored against the coffee table as he held her up, up, up until they were eye to eye. He talked to her, softly, as if he was embarrassed that Jaskier would hear what he was saying, and think it anything but lovely.

Jaskier loved having this baby in his home, even when she cried so loud Jaskier was sure she rattled the dishes. Jaskier loved the way she blinked slowly when she woke up, and the way she couldn’t hold her head up yet. Jaskier loved how tiny and pliable her fingers were, and how she would let him kiss only three, every time, before she was flexing her fingers and tugging her arm away.

Jaskier loved this tiny thing he never thought he would get to have. He loved her even though he knew she wasn’t his, would never be his.

She was a lot like her father, that way.

\--

“Geralt, I cannot bear it. If you keep giving Cirilla dopey looks, I am going to have to kill you, because I cannot be further endeared to you. There is a limit, I have met it, and I must ask, for my sake, you stop before I combust.”

Geralt snorted, giving Jaskier a wry look across the table. “I think I’m allowed to give dopey looks to the little girl that made me a father on father’s day, Jask.”

Jaskier’s hand splayed across his chest and he turned his eyes to the ceiling. “No, God, I cannot handle it. I am only a mere mortal, and you did not prepare me for a Geralt that says such lovely things.”

“Just finish your food. You’re officially a failure of an adult if a baby finishes before you do.” Geralt stood up, took his own plate to the sink, and wet a rag to start the ever-lengthy process of cleaning Ciri and her high chair.

“She doesn’t know how to savor a meal like I do.” Geralt snorted, and Jaskier beamed at him. “Besides, I’m building suspense for your father’s day gift.”

“Ciri already got me a father’s day gift. I got a very nice card and a massage.” He couldn’t fault Yennefer for giving him the same gift--he didn’t think he had ever looked forward to something more.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Obviously there’s more, Geralt. Ciri had to  _ make you _ something for your first Father’s Day.”

Geralt stopped cleaning Ciri’s face--to her relief--and stared at Jaskier. The longer he stared, the more Jaskier flushed under the attention.

“Jaskier, you didn’t have to do all that,” he said.

Jaskier ducked his head and waved a hand dismissively. He stood up so quickly the chair very nearly toppled over, but Jaskier saved it at the last moment, then gathered up his plate and escaped to the sink. “I told you, Geralt. Ciri made it.”

Geralt watched him a moment longer, enjoying the way Jaskier’s face remained a delicate pink as he started to wash the dishes. But Ciri was attempting to make a bigger mess, so he turned back to her and continued cleaning her up. He finished right around the time that Jaskier came back, dishes clean and with a present wrapped in his hand, which he held out to Geralt.

“Happy Father’s Day,” he said. “From Ciri.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him, half hoping Jaskier would blush again, but he must have worn out any embarrassment already. He did rub the back of his neck and nudged Geralt’s shoulder with his fingers, then turned to pull Ciri out of her high chair. Geralt unwrapped the present to find a picture frame, containing a paint stamp of Ciri’s feet angled into a heart.

“I (heart) you, Daddy, From the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Love always, Ciri.”

Geralt traced his fingers over Ciri’s footprints, then reached out to Jaskier. His hand rested on Jaskier’s hip as Geralt stood up and wrapped both Jaskier and Ciri in a brief hug, though his hand lingered a moment longer on the small of Jaskier’s back.

“I love it, Jask.” Geralt paused and pressed a kiss to Ciri’s temple. “Thank you, Ciri.” But his eyes never left Jaskier’s face. There was that blush again.

Geralt pulled away then and placed the frame carefully on the table. He would decide a good place to display it later, but right now, heart hammering in his chest, he had made a decision. And he had to do this now, before he lost his nerve.

“I got you something, too,” Geralt said. He turned to his hiding spot--his work bag, because it was the only place he could guarantee that neither Jaskier nor Ciri would get into it.

Behind him, Jaskier scoffed. “I think you’re misunderstanding this whole day, Geralt. I am not one to turn down gifts, but you could at least wait until it isn’t a day that’s supposed to be about you. You’ll make me feel like the toddler that doesn’t understand that I don’t get presents on someone else’s birthday.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, and came back with the small, wrapped box anyway. He traded Jaskier, the box for Ciri, and pressed another kiss to her cheek as he waited for Jaskier to open it. Jaskier still waited, his eyes searching Geralt’s face. Whatever he found there seemed to be enough to make him finally open it.

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered. 

He pulled out the necklace--a pendant in the shape of a guitar pick, and thumbed over the words “I love you to the moon and back, Ciri.” He pulled the necklace out and just stared at it for a long time, running his fingers over every inch of the pendant. Geralt shuffled his feet. He wasn’t sure if he should say something, or wait for Jaskier to.

“She’s yours, too,” Geralt said, his voice low. Jaskier met his eyes at this, and they were wet with unshed tears. “You have to know--we all think that. Me, Ciri, even Yen. You’ve been here just as much as we have and I--I couldn’t imagine handling this without you.”

Jaskier pulled Ciri and Geralt into a hug. He pressed between them, one hand on Geralt’s back and one on Ciri’s, and Jaskier’s face pressed into the crook of Geralt’s neck. They stayed there long enough that Ciri started to protest. Her babbling turned from happy, to whining, and Geralt was sure she was headed quickly toward a freak out, so he reluctantly pulled away.

“I should get her ready for bed,” Geralt said.

Jaskier nodded, looking down at the necklace again. Geralt would be concerned by his silence that he hated it, if Jaskier wasn’t smiling down at it. Jaskier tore his eyes away and pressed a kiss to Ciri’s cheek.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I love my necklace,” he said, and ran his fingers through her hair.

As Geralt walked up the stairs, he caught Jaskier slipping the necklace over his head and smoothing it down under his shirt, over his heart. Geralt didn’t lose his smile throughout Ciri’s entire bedtime routine.

Once Ciri was down, Geralt went back downstairs and found Jaskier on the couch with a glass of wine. They made eye contact for a moment, only for Jaskier to break and look away. Geralt raised an eyebrow, but poured himself his own glass of wine, and sat beside Jaskier, keeping only about half a foot of distance between them. Before, he had made the decision to break the silence. This time, however, Geralt thought it was Jaskier’s turn.

Jaskier took it. He turned toward Geralt, bringing his legs up until his knees were touching Geralt’s thigh. Jaskier propped his head up with his hand, his elbow pressing into the back of the couch, and just watched Geralt. Geralt leaned back into the cushions and turned his head to look Jaskier in the eye.

“Thank you.” Jaskier’s voice was low, just barely above a whisper.

The words hung in the air for a moment, before Jaskier leaned toward the coffee table and put down his glass of wine. He relieved Geralt of his glass as well, and hesitated for a thoughtful moment at the coffee table, before he was slowly climbing into Geralt’s lap. Jaskier looked unsure, his teeth held his lower lip between them, but still Jaskier straddled Geralt’s thighs and his arms looped around Geralt’s neck. Geralt’s heart hammered in his chest, but his hands found Jaskier’s hips anyway, and this time, when his fingertips dipped under the hem of Jaskier’s shirt, Jaskier didn’t pull away.

Geralt was half convinced Jaskier was going to kiss him, but Jaskier didn’t. He played with Geralt’s hair, running his fingers through the strands and twisting and tugging. Geralt wouldn’t be surprised if he found a braid there later.

Instead, it was Geralt who grew impatient. Who leaned forward to take Jaskier’s now-swollen lips with his own. It was soft, and slow. There was heat there, but none of the urgency their previous kiss had held. Geralt wasn’t seeking more this time; he wasn’t hungry for a distraction like he had been months prior. Now, he kissed Jaskier like he had all the time in the world, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Jaskier opened up beautifully to it. One hand continued playing with Geralt’s hair, while his other settled on Geralt’s chest, just over his heart. He didn't push Geralt away, and didn’t pull away himself until he was out of breath. Jaskier panted softly as he pressed their foreheads together, his breath intermingled with Geralt’s.

“This isn’t--I mean, you’re not…” Jaskier huffed a nervous laugh. Geralt’s eyes were closed, but he could hear the uneasiness in his voice. “Why did you kiss me, this time?”

Geralt cupped Jaskier’s face, thumbed along his cheekbone. “Because I wanted to.” He pulled Jaskier in for another soft, chaste kiss. “Not because I’m drunk. Not because I’m hurt. Not because I want a distraction. Just because I wanted to. Just because I always want to.”

Jaskier let out a broken sound. His fingers curled into Geralt’s shirt. “If I tell you something honest, am I going to scare you away?”

Geralt shook his head. He thought he knew what Jaskier was going to say. He thought he was ready to hear it.

“I love you,” Jaskier whispered, like it was a secret, just for the two of them. “I have loved you for so long. I don’t--you don’t have to say it back. I just need you to know. I need it… here. I love you.”

Geralt found he couldn’t say anything. But from the way Jaskier sighed happily into his mouth, he was pretty sure the kiss he gave Jaskier was answer enough.

\--

When Geralt returned home from dropping Ciri off at Yennefers, Jaskier was watching a video on his computer. It wouldn’t have been suspicious, if Jaskier didn’t scramble to pause it as soon as Geralt walked through the door. Geralt didn’t see the struggle, but it was enough of one that it was audible, and once Geralt had joined Jaskier, who was sitting at the kitchen table, Jaskier had an odd expression on his face. One that was somehow… flat. Devoid, even.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asked, hanging his keys on the hook.

Jaskier tried to laugh, but it was higher pitched and weak. “Why would anything be wrong, darling? You’ve been here for not even ten seconds, it’s not like anything--”

“Jaskier,” Geralt stopped him, sitting down in the chair adjacent to Jaskier.

Jaskier sighed and fiddled with the mouse. He turned the screen to face Geralt and started the video.

When Geralt saw Valdo Marx, his eyebrows shot up and he looked at Jaskier closely. Jaskier had a dark expression on his face, and he glowered at the man on the screen. Valdo was telling the camera about his new song, and played a teaser for it. The video was short, only about a minute long, and by the time it was over, Geralt was thoroughly confused. Jaskier looked close to tears.

“It’s my song,” Jaskier said, with a full-body sigh. He closed the laptop and pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes, dropping his elbows to the tabletop. “He stole my song.”

Ah. Fuck. Geralt reached out to rub Jaskier’s back, unsure of what he could possibly say that would fix this. Nothing, probably.

“Mother fucking piece of shit rat  _ bastard _ ,” Jaskier groaned. “The worst part is that I’m not even  _ surprised. _ He was  _ horrible _ , Geralt. So full of himself and just thought the entire world revolved around him. He called my songs trite and common, and then he pulls this bullshit? God, I wonder how many other musicians he’s done this to. It doesn’t even sound the same. He got the sound  _ all _ wrong.”

“I bet your version is better.”

Jaskier sighed. “It is. It’s supposed to be a sad song, not this pop nightmare. And now I’ll never be able to perform it, lest people think I’m covering  _ him _ . That fucking snake.” Jaskier sighed again, then turned in his chair, pressing his head into Geralt’s shoulder. It couldn’t have been comfortable, his angle and their positioning was so wrong for this, but Geralt leaned back into him anyway, enveloping him in his arms.

“You can play it for us. I’ll know it’s yours. Ciri will know. Yen, Triss, my brothers--we’ll all know. And if you play it at Posadas, who cares if they think it’s a cover? They’ll like yours better, I guarantee it.”

Jaskier let out a shaky laugh and sat back up, resting his hand on Geralt’s neck. “For someone who is reportedly not so good with words, you always seem to know the right things to say.”

Geralt took Jaskier’s hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. “I’ve had practice. And a very good teacher.”

It didn’t fix things, he knew. Geralt hadn’t realized just how much touring with Valdo had complicated things for Jaskier, though from his little mentions here and there, Geralt was pretty sure Jaskier would face an uphill battle in trying to make himself known  _ outside _ of Posadas. But Jaskier was smiling again and that, at least, Geralt could claim control in. That was something Geralt could do.

\--

Technically, they still had another week until Cirilla was  _ actually _ one. However, it made sense to hold the party earlier, because Yennefer had to fly out of country to a show that, no matter how hard she tried, could not be moved or altered so she could be home on the actual day. Yennefer was trying not to show it, but she was disappointed.

Geralt had never considered himself to be the type to go all-out for a first birthday party, but Jaskier had insisted and Yennefer had looked so happy when Jaskier suggested the idea, and Geralt found himself bending easily. Besides, as Jaskier reminded him, Ciri would never again be turning  _ one _ . They might as well celebrate it.

So their backyard was filled with gaudy decorations, largely due to Jaskier, who had even managed to find a way to get his music students to help him craft. How he had gotten the parents on board with their children being so off-task, Geralt wasn’t sure, but he supposed that was just Jaskier’s magic. Even Geralt had to admit the backyard looked cute.

Cirilla was loving the attention. She crawled around like she owned the place, pulling herself up to stand against everyone’s legs and demanding they give her attention. Geralt snorted a laugh as Ciri pulled on Lambert’s hair hard enough that he winced, and wasn’t put off by Lambert flipping him off, though he did at least come over and take Ciri from him.

Jaskier was still finishing a lesson, so the party had hardly  _ really _ started. But Ciri was starting to get ornery with over-stimulation, and Geralt had a feeling if they didn’t start moving things along soon, they’d have a meltdown shortly.

“Hungry, Ciri?” he asked. Her little hands wound in his hair and she looked deadly serious as she stared at him.

“Yes!” she said, and Geralt beamed.

“Oh my God, I cannot wait to tell Jaskier that he missed  _ another _ word,” Yennefer said delightedly as she laughed into her wine. “At least it’s a useful one. Though, uh oh was pretty adorable.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and picked up a strawberry. He offered it to his baby girl--soon she’d officially be a  _ toddler _ and didn’t that just hurt?--but she scrunched up her nose and pulled away.

“ _ Yes _ ,” she repeated, insistently, and tried hard to smack the strawberry from Geralt’s hand.

“Ciri, that’s rude. We don’t smack things away. You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to,” Geralt admonished, then took a bite of the strawberry himself.

Yennefer held her arms out for Ciri, and Geralt handed her over. “We should probably start serving food. He’ll be here soon?” Yen asked, and Geralt nodded.

As if summoned by magic, Jaskier walked through the backdoor, beaming at everyone and making his hellos. 

“Sorry I’m late. A parent didn’t want to let me leave, not even when I mentioned I had a birthday party to get to,” Jaskier said. He stopped next to Geralt and wrapped an arm around Geralt’s waist. “Did I miss anything?”

Geralt started to answer him, until he realized Ciri was attempting to dive-bomb her way out of Yennefer’s arms to Jaskier. As she did so, she kept repeating “Yes, yes,  _ yes _ .”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide and he untangled himself from Geralt to take Ciri. Ciri’s arms wrapped around his neck as well as she could and Jaskier returned the gesture, his embrace going much farther. Jaskier turned, wide-eyed and grinning, and looked between Yennefer and Geralt, practically thrumming with excitement.

“ _ Please _ tell me that sounded like ‘Jask’ to you,” he pleaded. 

Jaskier’s joy was infectious, and Geralt grinned right back at him. Even the corner of Yennefer’s mouth ticked up as she patted his shoulder.

“Guess you’re finally one of us,” she said. She stroked Ciri’s hair, then turned to strike up a conversation with Triss.

Geralt let Jaskier have his moment with Ciri and started serving the food to the rest of their guests. He didn’t manage to lose his smile for the rest of the party, though. He just kept finding new reasons to smile. Almost all of them centered around his perfect little family.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos & comments are always appreciated. yelling at me on tumblr is always welcome (lesdemonium.tumblr.com). thanks so much for getting this far and i hope you enjoyed <3
> 
> i don't think i'm done with this particular verse. the STORY is definitely done, but i'm a bit obsessed with my headcanons so, i mean, if you'd have any interest in seeing further vignettes about our co-parenting trio, i'd love to hear from you.


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